


Two Point 0

by watyonameisgurl



Series: Twelve Verse [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, (in case that wasn’t already obvious, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Gore, Child Soldiers, Child slavery, Codependency, Dom/sub Undertones, Enhanced Abilities, Enhanced Senses, Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Body Modification, OT5 Friendship, POV Multiple, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, also, also slight spoiler but social worker things finally come into play with liam, because I’m probably still forgetting some things, because apparently I can't write anything anymore, because it should be but there will probably be lots more in this one than the last one just fyi), lots of, ot6 friendship, secret government-funded programs, will probably be updating tags as I post again, without it devolving into at least some form of kink/bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 139,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13626657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watyonameisgurl/pseuds/watyonameisgurl
Summary: “Because healing is messy and ugly and slow and doesn’t just happen in a progressive line. Sometimes...sometimes it’s gonna feel like you’re going backwards or sideways or every direction but forward, and you might not ever feel the same as you were, you might always be different from the person you used to be, but sometimes that’s okay...”Zayn looks out at the sea of faces staring back at him, fights down the anxiety still threatening to overwhelm him even though he’s almost through now. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but there’s so many of them, looking to him. And seeing all of them here, now, in front him—even if it still isn’t all of them—is a bit overwhelming. As he looks around though he catches sight of Liam in the sea of faces, smiling proudly, and that’s all it takes. He can already feel himself relaxing, powering through the last of what he wants and needs to say. Counting down the moments until he’s back by Liam’s side again, safe and sound and that’s what gets him through.[Or: Zayn keeps healing, Liam does too. But it’s not easy when there are so many forces still so determined not to let them. And fighting them alone is one thing. But the problem is it’s not just Zayn's fight anymore.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second installment of my previous fic Twelve and ~~probably~~ definitely won’t make any else at all unless you’ve read that monster of a fic first. Fic has been named as such to keep in theme with the whole numbers thing and also because this is ‘part **_two ___** _ _’ and I am unoriginal, but what else is new. Alternatively may be referred to as: ‘Twelve: The Sequel’ or ‘Twelve 2.0’ (because again I am unoriginal), or my personal favorite ‘Zayn and Liam finally get their shit together’__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In case you missed it before, while the first fic is (hopefully) still fresh in your minds[check out the playlist here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/170702299193/the-super-ridiculous-twelve-playlist)!**
> 
>  
> 
> also the structure for this in terms of the pov switches is probably gonna be a little less rigid this time around just fyi. there might be more of zayn than liam just cause as usual there’s a lot more that’s gonna be going on with zayn while there may not be as much going on with liam all the time and i don’t want to feel like i’m wasting time and space just filling up a chapter of nothing really substantial just to try to keep in line with the structure like i sometimes felt like i was doing for the last one. the plan for this is to be a bit more fast paced and less draggy/slow with less filler, part of which is made easier now that most things with the verse and the characters have already been established, but as always we’ll see how things go and how this ends up developing, nothing is set in stone…
> 
> anyway onto what you came here for, enjoy! :)

_Zayn_

I am strong. I am powerful. I am in control.

I am strong. I am powerful. I am in control.

I am strong. I am powerful. _I_ am in control.

This is what Zayn thinks this to himself as he looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Repeats it in his head three times, like he always does on days like this. It’s his mantra. A new thing he’s been trying at Harry’s suggestion along with meditation. It’s not something he does everyday. Just on days when he’s not feeling quite as high as usual, not quite so comfortable in his own skin. When the lows start to get to him and he finds it a little harder to push the bad memories back to the recesses of his mind because the nightmares may come less often now but they still come.

Highs and lows. That’s how he categorizes his days now.

It’s mostly highs these days, thanks to Liam and the others, but sometimes. Sometimes the lows still get to him, leave him waking up in the middle of the night scared out of his mind, drenched in sweat, unaware of where he is, _who_ he is. Or rolling out of bed feeling like shit for no reason (or for all the reasons). Or have him lying in bed, unable to muster the mental strength to get himself up or be even remotely productive. Or leave him exhausted and on edge after a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, trying to escape the echoes of memories long past. Or tense and angry because he hasn’t slept in almost a week thanks to it all. But those are the worst days, the rest of the time he’s mostly okay. Can get through the days and weeks without having a tantrum or a random cry. Can joke around, get shit done, and remember who and where he is and what he’s doing, get himself to work on time like a normal person.

That’s where he’s headed now. Work. Something just a few months ago he hadn’t even thought to consider for himself, much less thought possible. But Niall and Sarah had officially moved in together around the end of November, Sarah finally happily quitting her barista job since with the two of them splitting rent she didn’t have to “bust her arse” working two jobs anymore. And then over Christmas Niall—after a heart-warming speech about feeling like everything and everyone in his life was moving forward and he wanted to move forward too and a bunch of other nice, cliché things—had announced that he’d just bought and started to refurbish the property that had opened up a few minutes drive from their new flat with the money he’d saved up working down at The King’s Head pub. That he was planning on turning the new property into a place that could be a pub by day and a club by night. But he’d need someone he could trust to work security. And then he’d looked at Zayn. And then _everyone_ was looking at him, waiting to see what he would say. And he couldn’t not say yes. Not that he would have ever turned Niall down anyway but making decisions on the fly still aren’t his strong suit, and it would’ve been nice to have a bit more time to think about it. But he doesn’t regret it. Not in the least.

He gets to work with friends, because that’s what he considers the other staff that work there now after close to two months of working alongside them. And they’re all super understanding about his moods and his triggers. They don’t know the details obviously, but they don’t ask—and he’s sure if anyone ever dared to Niall would shut them right up anyway. But he appreciates the fact that they’re all really friendly and nice and super respectful of his boundaries. Well, most of the time anyway.

There’d been an incident where one of the other guys on security, Al, had tried to sneak up on Zayn and surprise him as a joke but he’d already been having an off day and trying to hide it. So when it happened he’d just kind of slipped into operative mode automatically, not even fully aware of what was happening. Not till he registered all the yelling around him and realized he had the other man in a frontal chokehold up against the wall, feet dangling a foot off the ground, face red as he struggled to gasp for air and break free while everyone around them yelled frantically for Zayn to let him go.

Al’s still a little skittish around him now even though Zayn’s apologized a million times since but he understands. He probably would be too if it had been him in Al’s shoes, and if he hadn’t had the training he did. But that’s the most serious incident that’s happened so far and even though Zayn’s still wracked with guilt over it he also knows it could’ve gone a lot worse and he’s thankful it ended how it did with no one getting seriously injured, or worse.

He shoots off a quick text to Liam—who’s already been at work a few hours by now—from the iPad letting Liam know what time he should be back by after his shift ends and then shrugs on a hoodie, walking out the door and down to the nearest bus stop.

The place is relatively empty when he gets there which is to be expected. It’s still fairly early and honestly there’s not really much for him to do during the day other than sit around or stand around and make sure there’s no one doing anything that seems dodgy. They don’t get much traffic during the day outside of day drinkers and stragglers coming in looking for some place to sit and pass the time while they wait out the cold.

The real work is during the night shifts when drunk arseholes are wandering in and out, getting rowdy and trying to start fights. There’s honestly not much of that either though most nights, only occasionally. But it’s only going to get worse once Niall gets the club part up and running. Right now it’s still just a pub, the top floor still a work in progress currently undergoing construction because they only had their grand opening a few weeks ago. Everything before that had just been them getting set up, moving stuff around and in and out, and Zayn helping train some of the other members of the security team in whatever areas they were weak in. But in another month or so when construction is done and the club section opens up it’s going to be mad.

He’s seen what the clubs and nightlife are like around here, what the people are like all drunk and drugged up and looking for anything that will give them a rush. Things are bound to get interesting, that’s for sure. But at least he knows what to expect thanks to Louis dragging them all out every so often to all the most popular pubs and clubs in the city.

“So. What are you and Liam doing for Valentine’s Day? Any plans?” Val, one of the other workers on the security crew, asks a few minutes after he’s sat down across from her in the corner booth they’re at. She’s snacking on a plate of chips drowned in ketchup, but she’s still got half an eye on the few patrons spaced out around the floor as does he.

He shrugs. He hadn’t thought about it but it _is_ coming up in just about a week. “Probably just really hot Valentine’s Day sex,” he says with a smirk, swiping one of her chips and popping it into his mouth.

“Oi! Get your own, ya moocher.”

“It’s no fun that way.”

Val narrows her eyes at him. “You’re lucky you’re such a badass and can get away with it.”

Zayn smirks again, swiping another. He knows if he were anyone else Val would likely have socked him in the mouth. But he gets away with a lot cause they’ve seen what he can do from their early days in training. Val herself’s training to be a professional MMA fighter in her off hours and had already had some pretty solid skills under her belt before he’d helped her improve during their weeks of orientation training so he knows she can hold her own. But he also knows he’d still easily best her in a fight even on his worst day and she knows it too.

“We missed you last week, you know. Everything okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, I had to take a couple sick days but I’m good now. Or better anyway.” He smiles, munched up fries and ketchup still between his teeth and Val makes a face.

They sit in silence for a little while after that, just watching the other customers, both of them giving a polite little nod to Sal, one of their regulars, sitting at the counter. He’s been here everyday since they first opened, always around the same time like clockwork. Grumbles about his ex-wife and his shitty pension to anyone who will listen, downs drink after drink, and then stumbles out on his cane. Usually with the help one of the security workers to make sure he at least gets down the street safely since he doesn’t live too far and usually walks here and back when he’s not drunk enough to warrant calling him a cab. There’s a couple other regulars like that that they know by name though none that come every single day like Sal, but for the most part it’s just a few sparse stragglers that have wandered their way in. Some drinking quietly alone in their corners, others making conversation over the soft din of the music playing in the background, some folk-sounding song Niall probably put on as part of a playlist. Other than that it’s pretty quiet. Uneventful.

“Think we’ll ever get some action around here?” Val says, jutting her chin out at the room at large.

Zayn shrugs, leaning back against the wall of the booth. “Maybe soon.”

So far, outside of the random drunkard here or there causing a ruckus, the most action they’ve had at this place, which Niall’s aptly named The Craic,* was the group of rowdy teenagers that came in last week clearly looking for trouble. It was already obvious they were skiving off school with it being the middle of the day on a weekday. But when they’d tried to order pints with their food and been refused that was when they really started getting out of control, threatening the workers and shouting and throwing food like toddlers throwing a tantrum.

Zayn had been seriously tempted to dropkick one of them as he and two of the other security guys were escorting—or more like dragging—them all out, but just barely managed to restrain himself, trying to remind himself they were just dumb kids. For all the annoyance they had caused though it was still nice to finally feel a little more useful, like he was actually doing something more productive than just standing around or moving furniture. But he still enjoys being here regardless. Likes the camaraderie and the opportunity to safely stare and people-watch—and actually get paid for it this time round—likes the feeling of just being out, doing something with his life, doing something for himself and others. And most importantly of all, appreciates the fact that Niall trusted him enough to even offer him something like this.

He makes a decent salary as the head of security, works flexible hours, chooses his own schedule, and gets to do something he’s good at with the added bonus of working with and helping out a close friend who in the past nearly two years of Zayn knowing him has become more like a brother to him. Not to mention all the friends he’s made here since. He’s incredibly lucky to have all that he has. To have this kind of opportunity. To have so many people around him supporting him and encouraging him and being so positive and loving and he’s so incredibly thankful and grateful to every single of them.

*

“Hey, how were things at the pub?” Liam calls from the bedroom as soon as Zayn comes in the door.

“Dead. Same as usual,” he calls back, squirming out of his hoodie and the black t-shirt that reads “security” in big white letters. It’s the only black thing he’ll wear besides his hoodies and it helps that it’s got the stark white lettering to contrast the dark so it’s not just plain black. Makes him not mind it so much, especially because it’s _his_ to own and keep and it’s sort of like a symbol of his freedom, his agency, instead of one of his captivity and servitude like plain black had been all that time ago. It’s all sweaty now though from his walk to and from the bus stop on the way home, as is his hoodie, and he balls them both up—no more folding neatly and waiting for someone to take them away—as he heads over to the bedroom to throw on a clean t-shirt, tossing the dirty clothes in the hamper on his way.

Liam turns to smile at him from his seat as his desk, laptop sat open in front of him, words filling up the screen.

“Brought your work home with you again?” Zayn says, raising his brows at the brightly lit laptop.

Liam sighs. “Yeah. Had to. Was working on it all day at the office yesterday _and_ today but still only made it three-fourths of the way through the edits and the deadline’s tomorrow.”

Zayn nods, tugging on a clean shirt and changing into a pair of joggers while Liam watches him.

“Hey. Focus,” Zayn says, pointing back to the computer. “The sooner you finish with that monstrosity, the quicker you can get to this one.” He gestures to himself with a smirk and quirked eyebrows.

Liam immediately opens his mouth looking like he wants to protest Zayn referring to himself as a monstrosity. But he’s gotten fairly used to Zayn making self-deprecating jokes these past few months so after a moment he just closes it again and shakes his head, rolling his eyes fondly as he turns back to his computer.

“Did you eat?” he asks, eyes scanning the screen now.

“Yeah, Niall had Kevin make me like three of those special cheeseburgers before I left.”

“Special.” Liam snorts. “I swear the man puts crack in those things, they taste way too good to be true. Special secret ingredient my arse, he’s probably got us all addicted as, like, part of his master plan to keep us all coming back to buy more.”

“It’s definitely working.” Zayn laughs.

“That’s for sure. The other night when I woke up to take a piss I actually found myself just randomly craving one even though it was the middle of the night. I’m telling you, you’ve got to start watching him when he makes them, say it’s part of, like, security or whatever to make sure the food’s meeting health and safety requirements or something.”

“He won’t let me. Trust me, we’ve all tried. The whole staff wants to know what the special secret ingredient is but he refuses to make them in front of us. Literally he won’t even start cooking the burgers till he’s sure we’ve all left the kitchen, and none of the other kitchen staff will crack either. It’s like—what’s that place?—Guantanamo Bay in there, they keep everything about the burgers top secret and start kicking the rest of us out of the kitchen as soon as anyone orders one.”

“See, it’s shit like that that’s exactly why I’m suspicious,” Liam says, glancing back at him with a mockingly solemn shake of his head. “Why all the secrecy if there’s nothing incriminating to hide?”

“Exactly, but we’ll probably never know and they’re too good to stop eating so. Burger junkies, it is.” Zayn shrugs, smiling.

“Burger junkies for life,” Liam says with a nod and a laugh before turning back to his laptop screen.

Zayn saunters back out into the living room to watch a bit of telly and have some chamomile tea to help him sleep and then a little later he’s crawling into bed next to Liam, the two of them kissing softly until they both fall asleep, wrapped around each other.

*

Zayn hasn’t said anything yet to Liam, but lately—over the course of the past few days anyway—he can’t seem to shake the feeling he’s being followed. He’s almost sure he’s just being paranoid but it seems like he keeps spotting people looking at him from afar. It’s no one he recognizes and the ones he catches are generally dressed in plain civilian clothes but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He’s been so careful that the chances of someone finding him are unlikely, but he’s not perfect. There’s always a chance he could’ve made a mistake. Said something he shouldn’t have in a public place, missed someone in the background looking a little too suspicious like they might be listening in, peeked his face out a little too far from his hoodie around security cameras, or done something else revealing he wasn’t even fully aware of. But he can’t be certain of anything.

Except that it’s definitely no one he works with. He’d notice if any of them were watching him suspiciously or started asking too many questions. And even besides that he’d double and triple vetted everyone Niall hired before and after he brought them on. Made sure there was no suspicious gaps in any of their work histories and that everything lined up how it was supposed to—references, schooling, past experience, social security, credit checks, etc. Anyone who raised any kind of red flag was immediately turned down. Which just leaves everyone else he’s ever encountered. Walked by on the street or sat across the room from at the pub, passed by in Tesco’s, or sat next to on the bus.

He’s probably just being paranoid for no reason and it’ll all turn out to be nothing and he’ll laugh about it with Liam and the others later but he still can’t shake the feeling anyway. Finds himself looking over his shoulder from time to time like he promised himself he wouldn’t do but he can’t help it. It’s second nature when he feels like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *For anyone who might not know, “craic” (pronounced like “crack”) is an Irish term that doesn’t really have an exact English translation but basically means something fun or cool, so calling it The Craic is kind of like calling it the the fun place/cool place/the place you're sure to have a good time. Except, you know, in a much cooler way than any of that would sound said in English lol.
> 
> **also[made a faq](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/170702608393/twelve-faq) for any questions that got asked re the fic more than once (that I can recall anyway) and which will probably be added to as we go so if you ever have any questions about anything going on with this verse in past chapters or current chapters I would recommend checking there first from now on to see if it’s already been answered.**
> 
> Comments and Kudos = LOVE  
> So share the love (if you feel up to it)! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then there was another one...

_Program Server_

**5 February 2018, 1608 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Requesting status update on operative retrieval mission.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**6 February 2018, 1842 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Operative was not where anticipated. Partial facial recognition match from street ATM security camera footage placed general location near attached coordinates. Operative could not be easily located within surrounding area on or around initial mission date and time. Mission unsuccessful. More reconnaissance needed.

– TAC Team Agent A

**10 February 2018, 1842 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Operative Retrieval – Update

Message: Operative’s location re-confirmed by reconnaissance scouts. General routine noted. Second retrieval attempt set for 24 February 2018 at 1400 hours.

– TAC Team Agent A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [made a program server timeline](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/170703160983/program-server-timeline) for anyone who might need a refresher on what went down at the end of the last fic if you haven’t jumped straight here from that one or if you just would like to see everything all truncated in one place so you can follow along easier with the progression of things :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some Valentine's Day schmoop (with a small side helping of angst cause it's me and what else did you expect lol) and Happy Black Panther Day!!! :D  
> (I'm going to see it tomorrow and I can't wait!)

_Liam_

Liam is freaking out. Okay maybe freaking out is a bit of an extreme way of putting it. It’s just that he’s really nervous about tonight. It’s their first Valentine’s Day and he wants everything to go absolutely perfect. But Zayn’s late—just like he has been everyday for the past few days—and Liam’s worried that if he takes much longer they’re going to miss their reservation.

Not that Zayn knows that, seeing as how it was meant to be a surprise. But still he’s nervous that this won’t go how he planned and he can’t stop himself from worrying just a little that something’s wrong.

He can’t imagine what could be keeping Zayn so late so often. Liam’s sure if there were some sort of problem at the pub Niall would let him know, especially if it was something that required Zayn to stay late every time he goes in, but if there is, Niall certainly hasn’t mentioned it. Liam knows Zayn is more than capable of taking care of himself, that whatever’s going on it’s probably no big deal, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying, if for nothing else than Zayn possibly feeling like he can’t tell Liam about it.

When Zayn finally does show up, just in the nick of time, and Liam tries to ask, Zayn just says, “Traffic.”

It’s the same excuse he’s been using the past few days and the first couple of times Liam had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt but honestly now he’s starting to wonder if Zayn’s maybe purposefully hiding something from him.

“Was there an accident or something?” Liam says maybe a little passive-aggressively because he knows how bad traffic can be around here but he only just came home himself an hour earlier and it was no worse than usual. And at this time of night with rush hour practically over, traffic should’ve been better not worse. It’s not that he means to pry or anything, after all Zayn’s entitled to his own secrets a thousand times over. He just can’t help but be concerned that if Zayn feels the need to blatantly lie about it as opposed to at least giving a vague explanation, like he went for a walk or stopped somewhere on the way home or something, that maybe it’s something Liam _should_ be concerned about. Something bad. Something dangerous. Or possibly even illegal.

And it’s not that he doesn’t trust Zayn. It’s just that even now Zayn still doesn’t have the firmest grasp on laws and morality and things of that sort, which is a bit ironic cause rules are sort of his _thing_ —in more ways than one, though that’s a train of thought for another time. But it’s a funny sort of paradox because as much as he likes rules he sometimes gets overwhelmed with just how many there are to remember and to follow out here in the real world, things that go against what he knew for so long. And it’s harder for him to follow things he has trouble understanding or that don’t make sense to him, or even just don’t really make sense in general—which a lot of laws don’t, if Liam’s being honest, because so many of them are archaic and ridiculous.

But still, when you come from a place where it’s literally kill or be killed and you’re constantly on the lookout for any kind of threat or hint of danger, the idea of attacking or even killing someone who touched you the wrong way as they passed by you on the street, or some dumb street kid who pulled a knife on you because they think they’re tough or they’re desperate for money, is nothing. Instinctual. And when you can knock them out or kill them faster than it takes you actually think through all the reasons why it’s bad and why you shouldn’t and what consequences you might face because of it, it only makes things even more complicated.

But Zayn just shrugs in answer, says, “I don’t know. Maybe. Ride just took longer than usual.”

Liam nods but he doesn’t think he’s at all overanalyzing when he notices how Zayn avoids his gaze just a little as he speaks. It’s casual, just a quick flick of his gaze to the side that Liam probably wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been paying close attention but he had. Had pretty much resigned himself to another excuse the moment the question was out of his mouth and there it is.

Zayn’s definitely hiding something. But now is not the time to get into it. They’re already well on their way to being late for their dinner reservation and this is supposed to be a nice, romantic evening. He’ll be damned if he’s the one to start a fight now and ruin the whole night. He’ll just have to file it away for them to talk about later.

*

The restaurant’s nice, but not too fancy, a place Sarah recommended that serves Mediterranean fare. Mostly Moroccan, with a small mix of stuff from other places. Liam’s not surprised in the least when Zayn orders in what he’s assuming is perfect Moroccan French, because it sounds slightly different from the traditional French he’s heard in passing, and then immediately switches to what’s probably equally perfect Moroccan Arabic once he realizes the waitress’s French isn’t all that great. The woman looks both surprised and relieved not to have to continue stuttering through their orders and brings them an extra plate of appetizers as both an apology and a gift, as Zayn explains, or rather translates, to him after she’s walked away.

Liam digs into the food gratefully and shakes his head fondly, smiling across the table at Zayn. “You always manage to get us free food. I swear I could bring you into a McDonald’s and you’d probably still manage to somehow get away with getting us two whole free extra meals _and_ drinks, probably a toy too just for kicks.”

Zayn shrugs, smiles bashfully into his own share of their appetizers. “Perks of being a walking human translator, I guess.” He takes a bite of the cheese and olive puff pastry thing they ordered that Liam can’t remember the proper name of because the menu was mostly in French, closes his eyes briefly, seeming to savor the taste as he makes a noise of appreciation. “This is _really_ good. Seriously. Thank you, Liam. For…all of this. For everything really. But this is…this is really nice. The surprise and the restaurant and the food and _you_ and just…all of it is just really nice.”

Now it’s Liam’s turn to smile bashfully. “Well, it’s our first Valentine’s Day. I wanted it to be special. I mean, I want every one of them to be special, obviously. But…I just…wanted to make sure I did something extra nice for our first one.”

Zayn grins. “Well, it worked. I love it here. The food’s amazing, and all of the staff actually _look_ happy to be here, our waitress is really nice and this place is just… _so_ beautiful, I feel like I’m really in Morocco, and also these ottomans are so comfortable, like I could just curl up and fall asleep in here and not even mind. We should definitely make this, like, our tradition. For Valentine’s Day and…every major holiday if we don’t already have plans, or maybe even if we already do have plans. We could make it a thing, maybe even bring the others once in a while.”

Liam grins back. “Yeah? You’d really want that?”

Zayn gives a curt nod, still smiling. “I would. We’ll be like those cheesy couples in the movies that do all the same corny traditions every year for Valentine’s and anniversaries and everything. And then when we get old one of us can pretend to forget until the last minute and then surprise the other and we’ll squabble about it in the car for ten minutes only to end up gushing about how much we love each other at the end of the night.”

“You’ve really thought all this out, huh?” Liam teases. “So which one am I in this scenario? The one who forgets or the one who starts a silly argument in the car, cause I have to say that second one sounds more like you.”

“Mmmm. We’ll switch off. That way neither one of us gets to have all the fun to ourselves.”

“Oh? And is ‘all the fun’ in this instance code for starting the fight?”

Zayn smirks. “Maybe.”

“Menace.”

When their main course comes instead of scarfing it down in his usual fashion Zayn actually takes his time, savoring each and every bite and taking nibbles from Liam’s plate as Liam does Zayn’s and it’s nice. The chairs _are_ extremely comfortable and the soft music playing in the background is soothing. Everything is delicious and their waitress is always bright and pleasant every time she comes to check on them, occasionally striking up a brief conversation with Zayn about the ingredients and the recipes and the décor and the music and literally anything that strikes their fancy while Liam waits patiently for Zayn to translate and adds what little commentary he can, not being very knowledgeable about things like art or Moroccan spices—which apparently share a lot of similarities with Indian and Pakistani spices in flavor and how they’re used. But even the conversation is pleasant. He doesn’t feel left out at all and even when he’s not actively participating, the ebb and flow of their words is nice to listen to even if he doesn’t understand most of them.

Dessert is just as lovely as everything else was, some sort of almond cake with gelato that Zayn predictably dips a finger in to swipe over Liam’s nose.

“Gee, thanks,” Liam says with a fond roll of his eyes. “But I guess it wouldn’t be dinner with you if I didn’t end up with food on me somehow.”

“You know you love it,” Zayn says, sticking it out his tongue.

Liam huffs a laugh into his napkin as he wipes at his nose and then reaches out to take the ginger snap wedged on top of the scoop of gelato and breaks it in half, handing the other half to Zayn.

“I love _you_ , even when you’re attacking me with ice cream and other random bits of food.”

He reaches across the table to tap his half of the cookie against Zayn’s in a sort of toast and Zayn smiles, big and bright. “I love you, too. Forever.”

“To us,” Liam says, feeling as if he could burst with how happy and full of love he is in this moment.

“To us,” Zayn echoes, returning the tap before reaching down in a flash to dip out a huge scoop of gelato with his half a cookie stuffing it in his mouth.

Liam laughs, mirroring his actions and then they’re digging into the remainder of the cake together, forks fighting for the last bite, which Zayn of course inevitably wins even though he lets Liam have it anyway.

By the time they get back to the flat Liam is still feeling high on life and love and doesn’t even mind when Zayn practically drags him to bed and makes quick work of his clothes, despite the fact that it’s Wednesday and he’s gotta be up early for work the next morning. They can break the ground rules just this once, after all it _is_ a special occasion and the perfect way to end a perfect night.

*

It’s an overcast Saturday afternoon a few days later and Liam’s still in bed reading over some things for work when Zayn comes back from his morning shift at The Craic.

“Everything go okay?” Liam says brightly, looking up at Zayn as he breezes through the doorway.

“Yup. Slow as usual, but it’s early so.” Zayn shrugs. “Pretty much just Sal and the usual crew of day-drinkers.”

“Mmm,” Liam hums, putting down his stack of papers as Zayn flops down next to him, regarding them with a wrinkled nose and a look of disgust. Liam laughs as he shifts the papers to the nightstand and reaches out a hand to run through Zayn’s hair, still long though he mostly keeps it trimmed to just above his shoulders. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, wrinkling his nose again though this time in fond annoyance rather than disgust. “You only say that like eighty-three time a week.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it. Every time. I’m proud of you, working and being independent and making your own decisions and remembering stuff and being _so you_ and being amazing—”

Zayn groans, burying half his face in the duvet in mild embarrassment. “If I kiss you will that shut you up? Or maybe I should just tickle you instead, that used to work really well I remember.”

“Nah, you’re no match for me now. I survived countless attacks from one Louis Tomlinson all through uni, from tickling to dick slaps to nipple-pinching to hickeys, I’m immune to it all now.” Liam’s pretty sure he hears a mumbled “we’ll see about that” but it’s muffled and half lost in the blanket so he can’t be sure. “But speaking of things you remember, that reminds me…there’s something I’ve wondered about for a while. It’s dumb and you have to promise not to laugh, but you reminded me of it that time you woke me up in the middle of the night just for sex.”

Zayn pouts. “A man has needs, Liam. And it was the weekend so technically I wasn’t breaking any of the rules.”

“Yes, a man _does_ have needs and those needs include sleep,” he teases. “But anyway that’s besides the point. I didn’t wanna ask before because I wasn’t sure if you’d even remember since it was still kind of early days for us at that point, but you remember so much now, stuff even _I_ don’t remember, so I figure now’s as good a time as any to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“Okay, well…” Liam pauses, takes a deep breath to steel himself because he still feels so ridiculous for even asking what he’s about to but it’s one of those things that’s just been nagging at the back of his mind for months now and he needs to know, even if it is silly. “It’s kind of…embarrassing to admit now but. Once when I was staying over at yours…I don’t know, I guess you thought I was asleep or whatever but I wasn’t and I sort of, um…overheard you, you know… _wanking_ , and—”

Zayn bursts out laughing, muffling his giggles in the duvet before he seems to regain composure and looks back up at Liam. “Yeah, I remember that,” he says, biting his lip to hide what is very clearly a smirk. “Wanna know a secret?”

“What?” Liam says slowly, warily, eyeing him a little suspiciously.

This time he really does smirk, mischievous and wicked, and makes no effort to hide it. “I did it on purpose.”

Liam mouth drops open. “ _Wha_ —you—you _knew_? You _knew_ I was awake _the whole time_?”

Zayn nods, still smirking.

“Arsehole!” Liam yells, kicking at him playfully, which of course Zayn artfully dodges even while caught up in another fit of laughter.

“Hey, you love this arsehole,” he quips in between snickers.

Liam rolls his eyes. “You know what’s really sad is the fact that I can’t even tell if that was meant to be a double entendre or not.”

“Mmm, you’ll never know,” Zayn says quirking his eyebrows up and down with a teasing smile.

“Pretty sure your eyebrows just told me.”

“Traitors,” Zayn gripes, glaring upward as if he could actually see his eyebrows and aim his glare at them.

“You’re ridiculous,” Liam says with a grin and a fond shake of his head. “Come up here and kiss me.”

“Never!” he says overdramatically but he’s sitting up and scooting closer anyway, mumbling about his lips being traitors too as he leans in, Liam tilting forward to meet him.

*

Liam wakes to a vice grip on his neck and he immediately gasps for air, eyes flying open to find Zayn leaning over him. It’s dark but the moon is full, shining enough light into his bedroom window that he’s just able to make out the expression on Zayn’s face, blank and emotionless, eyes dead. This isn’t him anymore. It’s the operative.

“Zayn,” Liam gasps desperately. “ _Zayn_.” He claws his fingers futilely at Zayn’s arm, but his grip still won’t let up. “Zayn, _stop_. You have to _stop_.”

But Zayn’s grip is too strong and Liam can’t get in enough air. He’s slowly losing breath, losing momentum and strength, and everything is starting to go fuzzy around the edges, his breath coming out in wheezes, voice weak and raspy as he desperately tries to get Zayn to come back to him.

”Zayn, it’s _me_. It’s _me_ , it’s Liam. ’S _Liam_ ,” he tries, wrapping his hands weakly around Zayn’s thin wrist and he’s not sure if it’s his voice or his touch that does it but Zayn suddenly seems to come back to himself. Recognition dawns in his eyes as he looks down at his own hand wrapped around Liam’s neck, so close to crushing his windpipe, and he rips his hand away lightning fast, staring at it as if it’s a foreign object and then looking down at Liam with an expression of horror on his face.

“I’m— _Oh, God_ , I’m _so sorry_. I didn’t—I was—I thought…” he doesn’t finish but he doesn’t need to. Looks around in confusion and bewilderment like he’s still not fully aware of where he is until Liam takes Zayn’s face in his hands and forces Zayn to focus on him and only him.

“I know. I know. It’s okay,” Liam says, shaking his head as he pulls Zayn back down. “It’s okay.”

“It’s _not_ okay. I could’ve—” Zayn cuts himself off, clearly not willing to finish the sentence but again he doesn’t need to.

“But you _didn’t_ ,” Liam says, hands smoothing over Zayn’s hair as Liam peers up at him. “Okay? You didn’t.”

Zayn shakes his head miserably, mouth open as if he’s poised to say something but doesn’t know what or can’t get the words out. And then Liam sees him glance sidelong at the floor, at the spot where he used to sleep, as if he’s considering going back down there.

“No,” Liam says, taking Zayn’s face in his hands again and turning it back towards him so Zayn has no choice but to look him in the eyes as he repeats it. “ _No_. Don’t even think about it.”

Zayn shakes his head again, eyes big and glassy. “Liam…I’m _dangerous_ to you up here.”

“If by dangerous you mean you’re dangerously sexy to me up here, then yes,” Liam says and he’s only half-joking.

“I’m _serious_ , Liam,” Zayn counters.

“So am I.”

“Liam—”

“Zayn.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop being dangerously sexy and I will.”

Zayn groans in frustration but the corners of his lips twitch, just faintly, just enough to be noticed in the pale sliver of moonlight, and Liam knows he’s fighting a smile, albeit a small and probably half-involuntarily one.

“Hey, look at me, yeah?” Liam says, voice soft and gentle, and he waits until Zayn’s eyes meet his again before he continues. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re both okay. We’re both safe. And that’s all that matters, okay?”

Zayn opens his mouth again, looks like he wants to say something else or maybe even protest again before he seems to change his mind and bites at his lip instead, looks down at Liam with those big doe eyes, sighs, and just says softly, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Liam repeats, nodding, a little to reassure himself and a little to reassure Zayn as he rolls them so they’re both laid on their sides pressed up together chest to chest, Zayn wrapped in his arms, face tucked into Liam’s neck as Liam tries his best to soothe him back to sleep.

*

As it turns out it’s the beginning of a string of bad days. And it shouldn’t be surprising. It shouldn’t. Because it’s not like this is some new, unexpected thing. It shouldn’t catch Liam off guard or be surprising at all.

But it is. Because Zayn has been doing _so_ well for _so_ long and now _this_ and Liam is tempted to ask—has been for a little while now if he’s honest with himself but kept holding back because it never felt like the right time—if whatever it is Zayn’s been up to that’s been keeping him late most days after work is the reason for this sudden surge in night terrors. Not that it necessarily has to _be_ anything in particular, it’s just something that’s been bothering Liam more and more, especially because it seems like the surge started shortly after Zayn first started coming home late, and this bout for some reason seems worse than usual. Or at least worse than it’s been in a long while.

Most times when nights get bad like this Zayn thrashes and fights in his sleep, sometimes even lets out whimpers and moans of pain, or wakes up confused and disoriented and drenched in sweat, but for the most part it doesn’t get much further than that. Not since those first few months of him being here when more often than not Liam would find him out in the living room or the kitchen, sometimes just standing there, sometimes with a knife or some other thing he seemed to think was a weapon in his half-conscious state. But these days that’s rare, Zayn waking up to find himself doing something he hadn’t meant to.

It’s happened on occasion, sure. There’d been an incident with a pen once a few months back when Zayn had woken up confused, thinking he was still in the middle of a mission, stood over Liam at his bedside with a faraway gaze holding the pen to Liam’s neck like it was a knife. He’d beckoned Liam up and back against the bedroom wall before he finally came back to himself and realized what he’d done and they’d laughed about it later because the pen still had the cap on and in retrospect that whole thing had seemed a bit comical, being threatened by pen and all. But incidents like that were few and far between these days and Liam could count the number of times something like that had happened over the last six months on one hand. Until now, that is.

In the last nearly two weeks alone, ever since the chokehold incident, it’s happened at least five more times. Nothing quite as threatening as the chokehold, but still bad nonetheless.

Just a few days ago Liam had woken to find Zayn sitting in the middle of the living room with the sewing kit in from of him, calmly sewing up a scar on his left bicep that was already half a decade old as if it were a freshly made wound that needed stitching. The stitch marks have already started to heal and scab over, over the past couple of days and probably won’t scar since they were nothing deep and it seems to take a lot for Zayn to be left with a permanent mark, but the memory is still haunting.

Three nights before that Liam had found him standing in front of the open bedroom window as if he was about to step up and jump out of it right down to the ground. He turned when Liam called his name, stared back at Liam with dead eyes for a moment, looking as if he was about to turn right around and jump out anyway before he seemed to realize where he was and what he was doing and came shuffling back to bed. Nothing else like any of that has happened in the last couple of days but it only has Liam more worried about what might be happening in that unaccounted for time after work, what Zayn might be hiding from him.

When he finally finds the right time to ask about what Zayn’s been up to he only gets more excuses, which doesn’t really help to ease his conscience much. But regardless of all the crazy thoughts that might run rampant in the back of Liam’s mind, he does trust Zayn. Trusts that Zayn wouldn’t at least purposefully do anything, or get involved in anything, really bad. Trusts that he would tell Liam if he was involved in something he _knew_ was dangerous or unsafe. And for now that trust is what he’s going to have to rely on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **fyi for now (and for as long as i can keep it up) chapters will be posted weekly, one at a time for liam, and two at a time for zayn whose chapters will usually come with one from the server pov as well so that you can see both perspectives while everything that’s happening from both sides is still fresh in your mind (e.g. each week you will either get liam’s pov--one chapter, _or_ zayn  & the server’s pov’s together--so two chapters)**
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and Kudos = LOVE  
> so share the love (if you feel up to it)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday!  
> Enjoy! :)

_Zayn_

Valentine’s Day goes nothing like how Zayn expected it would. He’d been half-joking but half-serious when he’d told Val it would probably just end with sex, although he’d suspected Liam might want to do something a bit more traditional too. Figured he might come home to some candles and a box of chocolate, maybe even some rose petals because Liam’s nothing if not a cheesy sap sometimes. But he certainly hadn’t expected to be wined and dined at an amazing restaurant with incredible food and beautiful patterns and artwork lining the walls and truly nice servers and staff who for once didn’t look like they’d rather be anywhere but there while pasting on a fake polite smile. And yet here they were, practically fresh off celebrating his second birthday in over a decade (and of course Harry’s more recently), over a year and a half of him being free, and almost six months of them being together. And he gets to spend this amazing night with Liam in an incredible restaurant where he feels more comfortable than he’s ever felt at any other restaurant that he can remember from the last year since he’s been out in the world as a free man.

It feels special, just like Liam had said he wanted it to be. And maybe it’s the food or the music or the spirit of the holiday. Or the knowledge of all the milestones he’s passed or just being here with Liam. Or maybe it’s all those things combined. But it feels special, important, noteworthy, memorable even, and he can’t help feeling like he wants to feel this way always and what better way to do that than to make it _their_ place, _their tradition_. So that every year, every holiday, every anniversary, every whatever, he can remember how he felt in this moment. Happy and free and most-importantly _loved_ and _full of love_.

But. He also can’t wait to be full of _other_ things and when they get back to the flat he wastes no time getting him and Liam undressed so he can feel them pressed them together skin to skin. Feel the love all over and through him as Liam presses kisses all over his skin, sits Zayn up in his lap, lazily working him open while leaning back against the pillows to watch the show. Because they do this still sometimes, this “putting on a show” game to get Zayn more comfortable with himself and it’s working. Leaves him feeling a little more at ease in his skin every time, a little less like that terrified operative. A little less like he wants to throw up everything he’s ever eaten in his entire life and never touch himself ever again. And it’s still a little strange for him sometimes even now after so many months but it’s much easier now to push away the bad thoughts and focus on the good. Focus on the feeling and on Liam. It also doesn’t hurt that Liam loves watching him like this. Looks at him like he’s the most mesmerizing thing in the world every single time. Like he’s been lost in the desert and Zayn’s the water and it makes him feel squirmy but in a good way, a turned-on kind of squirmy.

Liam looks so good underneath him, hard and leaking, pupils dark and wide, skin flushed a pretty pink, muscles of his arms flexing. One gripped around Zayn’s waist, the other moving back and forth steadily with the rhythm of his slick fingers inside. He urges Zayn on with soft commands, watches Zayn’s hand slide over himself with hungry eyes and tells him when to go slower and faster and let his grip go loose or tight, when to twist right there or flick his thumb just right _there_ , all the while matching the rhythm of his fingers inside to Zayn’s strokes. And Zayn can’t help it, whimpers and pants and moans desperately until he’s spilling all over his own fingers and right over Liam’s cock.

“Fuck,” Liam groans breathlessly, wrapping the hand that had been gripping Zayn’s waist around himself and spreading Zayn’s cum over his shaft like lube, pulling his fingers out slow and careful as he helps a still panting and oversensitive Zayn up onto his knees so he can line himself up and push inside. Torturously slow. Always _so_ slow.

And Zayn’s too spent at the moment to do anything about it like he usually would, lets Liam slide into him slick and slow and hard until he’s buried all the way inside and then rocks his hips weakly because it’s all he can manage until his stamina comes back. Feels like he could combust with how good it feels because they don’t do it like this often, him coming beforehand _and_ “bottoming from the top” like this as Liam calls it, and he’d forgotten how incredible it felt, overwhelming in the _best_ way.

Liam picks up the slack where he can’t. Holds him up with hands over his waist, firm but still somehow gentle, and bucks and grinds up into him deep while Zayn just takes it, lets out desperate little whines and whimpers and weak twitches of his hips until he’s got enough energy back to ride Liam properly. Lift himself up and down, roll his hips and meet Liam’s thrusts beat for beat until Liam’s coming hard, filling him up and reaching out to wrap a frantic around him so that Zayn’s coming again too, just as hard, body spasming and muscles clenching.

For a while there’s nothing but the sound of their harsh breaths blending together. Zayn sprawled limply over Liam’s sweaty chest, Liam still half inside him, running soothing fingers through his damp hair and then Liam presses a soft kiss to the shell of his ear.

“Wanna switch for the next one?”

Zayn lifts his head, rests his chin on Liam’s chest to peer up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Liam smiles and it’s a little loving, a little teasing.

They don’t do this often either. Mostly because Zayn prefers it the way they usually do it even though Liam’s always left the option open. But it’s fun to switch it up every once in a while and they’ve already mixed it up twice tonight so why not.

Zayn sits up, pressing a quick kiss to Liam’s lips while Liam reaches for the lube, passing it to Zayn once Zayn’s pulled back, Liam slipping the rest of the way out of him as he scoots off Liam’s chest and settles himself between Liam’s thighs.

He slicks his fingers up generously, opening Liam up slow and teasing like Liam does to him. Leans down to take Liam’s cock in his mouth while he works because he loves the way it makes Liam writhe and squirm and moan. He’s back to being fully hard in no time, as is Zayn, and when Liam tugs at his hair a little, like a reprimand, Zayn pulls off with a pop, his own cock jerking involuntarily.

“Gonna miss your chance if you keep that up,” Liam teases breathlessly.

Zayn doesn’t need to be told twice. He grins slyly, sticking his tongue out briefly, and then makes quick work of slicking himself up, leaning forward to line himself up and push in slow.

The first time they’d done this he’d gone a little too fast, didn’t give Liam enough time to adjust, but now he gets why Liam had been so slow and careful their very first time together. He still does it even though he knows at this point that Zayn doesn’t really need him to, but Zayn suspects that now it’s more about teasing than anything else, not that he minds. Much. He likes the teasing most of the time, has kind of grown to enjoy it, but sometimes he just wants Liam to get on with it and those are the times it gets to be frustrating. But, unlike him, Liam actually needs the time and the slow pace so Zayn watches his face carefully as he pushes in, resisting the urge to just slide into that tight heat as he works his way inside slowly until he’s all the way in, hips pressed flush to Liam’s thighs. He waits until he sees Liam face relax and his chest fall with the release of a soft exhale before he inches back out and then back in slowly. Liam lets out another little sigh and then a hum, blinking his eyes open to look at Zayn as Zayn rocks back and forth inside him slowly, working his way up to a steady pace.

“Okay?” Zayn says, a little breathless from the feeling of Liam tight around him like this, trying to keep himself from speeding up like he so desperately wants to.

Liam lets out a low moan and then nods, says languidly, “Mm-hm. S’good.”

Zayn sighs, partly in relief, partly to tamp down a desperate whine and starts to pick up the pace a little.

Liam moans again, and then reaches down to lay a hand over Zayn’s hip, smirking up at him. “Think you can go slow for me a little while longer, babe?”

And now they’re back to teasing.

Zayn does let out a whine then but he nods at the thinly veiled command and slows his pace again, biting his lip in desperation.

Liam hums contentedly, lets out more low moans as he wanks his cock a little lazily, clenching around Zayn every so often just to be extra obnoxious and it’s driving him _insane_.

“Nnn… _Liam_ ,” he whines in a mix of frustration and desperation.

“Just a little longer, babe, come on, feels so good. You can do it, yeah?”

Zayn whimpers but keeps himself steady, rocks back and forth, in and out, torturously slow into Liam until he’s practically shaking with the effort to restrain himself.

After what seems like forever Liam flits a hand over Zayn’s forearm, watches him shiver desperately for a bit more before he finally relents with a satisfied little smile. “Okay, go on. Faster.”

This time Zayn’s sigh is definitely one of relief as he grabs hold of Liam’s hips and slides all the way in hard and fast, then back almost all the way out, and then back in hard and fast again. Keeps it up till he’s pounding into him, forcing out punched out little sounds from Liam’s chest. He’s close already, just from being on edge for so long and Liam’s so tight and hot and slick inside, letting out these deep sounds that are going straight to Zayn’s dick and he’s not gonna last much longer.

Liam suddenly clenches around him again and it’s not a tease this time, he realizes. Looks down to find Liam’s eyes squeezed shut, hand wrapped tight around his dick, wanking himself quick and hard and the sight of it only pushes Zayn that much closer.

He can feel the bed shaking and creaking underneath them and hear the clack of the headboard against the wall that Liam will probably give him hell for later, especially if he’s cracked it again, but right now he doesn’t care. He’s _so_ close he’s burning with it. Pushes all the way in as deep as he can go and grinds his hips tight against Liam’s and Liam lets out a shout, coming all over his stomach and over his fingers, clenching _so tight_ around him and Zayn’s vision goes swimmy as his orgasm’s forced right out of him. Can feel himself shaking again as he holds himself tight against Liam, hips pressed flush to him and buried all the way inside, his own hole clenching and spasming with the force of it until he can feel Liam’s come from earlier running down his thigh and it only makes his orgasm that much more intense. Vision going white as his cock pulses deep inside Liam before Zayn’s finally sagging against him, all the energy and strength seeping out of him at once until he feels boneless.

“ _Christ_ ,” Liam intones with an exhausted sounding exhale.

Zayn huffs out a weak laugh into Liam’s chest, too tired for the real thing, and, still panting a little, says, “I vote…we make all that…a tradition, too.”

Liam lets out a puff of air that Zayn’s pretty sure is also supposed to be a laugh and croaks out, “I second that…one hundred percent. Motion…granted.”

Zayn hums contentedly, gropes blindly for the baby wipes they’ve started keeping on the nightstand and wipes him and Liam down as best he can with his remaining limited supply of energy, tossing the dirty wipes in the direction of the bin and not even bothering to check to make sure they hit their desired target. They probably did. It’s fine. Probably.

Liam sighs long sufferingly. “I am so calling out sick tomorrow.”

“Good,” Zayn says with a kiss to his chest that’s really more just a light press of the corner of his lips because he’s too tired to even turn his head to do it properly. “Then I’ll have you all to myself.”

“Yeah, well, good luck getting me to move cause I’m pretty sure the second I close my eyes I’m gonna sleep for about three days,” he says around a yawn.

“Well, then, I guess you’ll just be missing out on all the great post-Valentine’s Day sex I’ll be having with myself.”

Liam snorts, twirling lazy fingers through the ends of Zayn’s hair. “You’re ridiculous and I really want to kiss you right now but I’m too tired.”

“Mphf. Ditto. Just add it to the list of post-Valentine’s Day things we have to do, right before more sex.”

“Yeah, and also getting Niall to come re-spackle the wall I’m pretty sure you cracked. Again. Thank God Jerry can’t be arsed to do routine inspections like he’s supposed to or we’d have been out on our arses a long time ago.”

“Exactly. See? Everything works out in the end. Happy endings for us, happy endings for the wall. Happy endings for everyone.”

“Was that supposed to be another double entendre,” Liam says drily, like it’s not even a question.

“Maybe.”

“ _Maybe_. Maybe Maybe Maybe. One of these days I’m gonna make a rule about you not being allowed to use the word maybe anymore.”

“Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t.”

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight you right now.”

“Come at me, bro,” Zayn says in his best imitation of the guy from SpaceMonsters 3000. Except it kind of falls short cause he’s too tired to even get the tone right, much less mime ripping his shirt so it comes out just sounding more like an exhausted mumble but Liam laughs softly anyway.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Zayn mumbles back automatically and then, “Sleep?”

“ _God_ , yes.”

Zayn flicks out the lamp, Liam pulling the covers up over them and they’re both out like a light in seconds.

*

Zayn’s only been lying awake about twenty minutes when Liam stirs underneath him. Liam had been up already a few hours earlier to call in sick true to his word and then crawled back into bed gratefully the moment he got the okay from David to stay home.

Now it’s nearly noon and Zayn’s been thinking.

He’s been doing a lot of research lately in his downtime. On sex and kinks and new things to try. And especially after last night being so amazing with them having done so much that they don’t usually do very often he’s feeling particularly inspired to try even more things they haven’t tried yet, some of the stuff he’s seen online, on sex advice blogs and forums and kink websites and that.

It’s weird to explain but Zayn’s not actually all that averse to trying most things involving sex, even if it was something done to him in the bunker. It’s one of the reasons he’d been so willing to be intimate with Liam even when Liam was so sure he’d want to wait. And Zayn’s not sure if it’s because it’s Liam he’d be trying those things with and he trusts Liam to take care of him and not hurt him. Or if it’s still some kind of residual mental conditioning thing making him desensitized to the idea, like how he is with pain where it just doesn’t really bother him for the most part. Or some combination of the two. It’s probably a little bit fucked up either way but that’s pretty much his life story at this point so.

But it’s not like he doesn’t have boundaries. There’s certain things he still struggles with, like being okay doing things with himself although they’re working on it and it’s going better so far. But there are things he’s willing to try and things he absolutely won’t. Like maybe bondage, he thinks he’d be okay with trying that. Or toys, or blindfolds even. But definitely not anything to do with blood play. Or knives. Not that Liam would probably even be interested in that kind of thing either anyway, but still.

And it doesn’t matter that some of those things he’s okay with trying _now_ were used on him or done to him _before_ because even besides the weird not-minding thing that he can’t quite explain, the difference now is he’s _choosing_ it. It’s not just something being forced on him, it’s something, or things, he’s choosing to do with someone he loves and trusts and feels safe with. And it’s a way to replace the bad with the good. Which is what he tries to explain to Liam when he brings it up.

“It’d be kind of like…aversion therapy,” he says to a still yawning Liam, “…except I’m not really averse to any of it, it’s more just…I want to replace it with good memories, so if I think of something, like…I don’t know, being tied up or something, instead of thinking of _them_ , I’ll think of _you_ …does that make sense?”

“I guess, yeah,” Liam says softly, nodding. “It’s just…unexpected is all. I just figured you wouldn’t want to do anything like that at all. Because of, you know, the bad memories and stuff.”

“Yeah, you’d think. But…I don’t know, if that were the case I probably wouldn’t even be able to go anywhere near jam. Or knives. Or dicks. Or Louis for that matter since I still think he kind of looks like one of my Handlers. Or a lot of things really. I know it’s weird, but there’s certain things that I just…don’t mind. Even if—even if it’s something where it seems like I should. I don’t even really understand it myself, but…s’just the way I am I guess. I’ve been running with the theory that it’s maybe partly because I feel safe enough now that I can be okay with certain things and partly from some leftover conditioning that still makes me apathetic about some stuff or, like, makes me not mind certain things as much but…who knows really. Maybe Sarah might have a better explanation,” he muses, shrugging.

Liam’s brows are furrowed when Zayn looks over at him. “You never told me you thought Louis looked like one of your Handlers.”

Zayn furrows his own brows in return. “I didn’t? I thought maybe I’d mentioned it at some point. Anyway, you know now. But is that really all you got out of that whole speech?” he says with a teasing smile.

“Hey, I _was_ listening. And I agree that Sarah might have some more insightful way of explaining it, but I think I kind of get it. I mean, you can’t be scared of _everything_ otherwise you’d never be able to function, so being okay with some stuff—the stuff that wasn’t as bad maybe—makes sense in a way. But back to the thing about Louis. Is that why you attacked him that time? When he first showed up?”

Zayn rolls his eyes playfully. “I attacked him because he barged into your flat and I didn’t know who he was. I was trying to protect you, you ungrateful arse.” He pauses, musing to himself a bit before he says, “Might’ve had something to do with why I threatened him at knifepoint though when I just knocked out Harry and Niall. I never really liked Handler A—or whatever the closest approximation to like would’ve been in my case—but anyway I didn’t really _have_ to use the knife. I could’ve just as easily just knocked him out like the others, but…I don’t know, maybe that was my version of venting? I’m not sure.” He shrugs again and Liam just hums in contemplation.

“So…what all exactly is on the table?”

“Mmmm…pretty much everything. Whatever you’d be up for. No knives or rape scenarios or anything like that obviously. And no leather outfits cause that’s just on principle.”

Liam snorts. “Got it. I’ll be sure to keep my leather bodysuit tucked away in storage. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of for now, but if anything else comes to me I’ll let you know. What about you?”

“Hmmm…no breathplay stuff…or ageplay. No watersports and definitely no master/slave type stuff. That’s about all I’ve got for now.”

“Watersports?” Zayn repeats, confused. He hadn’t seen that one in his research.

Liam makes a face. “Piss and stuff.”

“Oh. Huh. People are into some weird things.”

“Yeah, well. I’m certainly not one to kink shame, but for me that is where I draw the line. I dated a guy once who was into it and he tried to get me into him with him but I just…hard pass, you know?”

“Agreed. Not just on that, but all of it. The stuff you said before.”

“Good to know…but, hey, you know if you ever do want to try anything, even if you think I might not be into it, tell me, yeah? I’d rather we talked about it than you feeling ashamed or thinking I might not want to. Things are…so different with you. Like…you’ve gotten me into stuff I didn’t ever consider, much less even think I’d ever be into, but…I don’t know, it just seems like I’m always willing to bend the rules a little when it comes to you. Like you bring out another side of me or something.”

Zayn grins, a little bashful. “You do that to me, too.”

“Aww, come here you,” Liam says with a laugh, wrapping strong arms around him and pulling him close so they’re flush up against each other chest to chest, and kissing him soft and slow.

Liam pulls away a few moments later with a soft sound and the both of them look down to where Zayn’s hand is resting over Liam’s hip, fingers grazing over him absently until Zayn catches sight of the sight of the deep purple bruises in the shape of his own fingers there and immediately stills, jerking his hand away in a flash.

“ _Shit_ , I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—” he stops himself short, shaking his head as he thinks about last night, how he’d been so caught up in his own pleasure he hadn’t been as careful as he should’ve, let himself get reckless and _God_ , now he’s hurt Liam.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Liam says gently, shaking his own head as he takes Zayn’s face in his hands and leans forward for another soft kiss. “I don’t mind them,” he says against Zayn’s lips after they’ve broken apart again, flashing a teasing smirk at him. “Besides, it was hot when it was happening. And now I’ll have no choice but to remember it for days.”

“Still, I—I should’ve been more careful, paid more attention. I should’ve—”

“Should’ve _nothing_. It was amazing and I wouldn’t have wanted it to go any other way.”

“But I _hurt_ you, Liam.”

Liam shrugs. “Not much. And I got a great orgasm out of it. Relax, yeah? Tons of people get bruises from sex. It’s a thing. Some people are even into it. And by some people I mean me. In case that wasn’t clear. That’s another one of those things I didn’t know I’d be into till you but it turns out I am. With you anyway.”

“Yeah, well, _most people_ don’t have to worry about their boyfriend accidentally breaking their hip because he came too hard.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “ _Yeah, well_ you didn’t, did you? Because apparently even when you’re lost in an orgasmic haze you clearly still have enough wherewithal to temper your strength, otherwise this bed would probably be in pieces and so would I. You’ve got to trust yourself, babe.” And then, when Zayn opens his mouth in preparation to protest, “Come _on_ , just let me have this and stop being such a Debbie Downer.” Liam pouts, lips shiny pink and eyes big.

“You’re a terrible enabler,” Zayn says with a sigh. And then, running his fingers faintly over the dark, finger-shaped marks, voice softer, gentler, “You’re really okay? With this?”

“I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Promise.”

Zayn lets out another soft sigh, presses his forehead against Liam’s. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do. You deserve the world, you hear me? You’re incredible and beautiful and strong and brave and you deserve _everything_ and no one’s ever gonna take that from you again.”

“Sap,” Zayn groans.

“You love it.”

“I love _you_ more.”

“Love you, too. _So_ much. And don’t ever forget it.”

Zayn smiles. “Promise.”

Liam smiles back. “Good, cause I’m holding you to it.”

*

“I take it Valentine’s Day went well?” Val teases when he comes in for the night shift later that evening.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t _maybe_ me. You’ve got a glow, Malik.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, plopping himself into their usual booth and swiping the extra pickle on the plate next to her half-eaten burger.

Val raises a calculating brow at him. “You want a war?”

“Try me.” Zayn smirks, crunching on the pickle extra loud just to be obnoxious.

Val’s glare is murderous but Niall swoops in to save the day with a plate full of sliced pickles that he slides across the table in front of them. “Just take the whole damn lot for the sake of the furniture and my financial future, which apparently Kevin is the only other person in this place who gives a rat’s arse about. You’ve got him to thank for this stalemate since now we’re fresh out, so you better be extra nice to him tonight.”

“Sure thing,” Zayn mutters, without turning to look at him, preoccupied with the staring contest Val’s started up that he’s pretty sure she knows is futile because he could literally do this even while half-asleep. But she seems determined to try anyway and Zayn munches lazily on the plate of pickles until she finally breaks her resolve in a huff of frustration.

“You’re the worst,” she gripes with a shake of her head.

“No one likes a sore loser, Val.”

“No one likes a show-off either.”

“Touché. But in my defense you _were_ the one that started it.”

“Shut up and eat your stupid pickles,” she says with a roll of her eyes, grabbing two off the plate for herself while Zayn just smirks triumphantly.

*

Zayn wishes he’d known that that would be the last really good day he’d have for a while. Maybe he would have savored it more, appreciated it better. But there’s no going back now.

His nightmares have been at an all-time high lately, starting up really bad again after that day. And it’s not like it’s anything new, things being worse than usual, him waking him up not knowing who or where he is. He goes through periods sometimes where things are a little worse or sometimes even a little better than usual, and it’s normal, expected. But the difference is usually it’s random, nothing for him to pinpoint what’s causing the sudden uptick, or downtick, or whatever the case may be. But this time is different. This he knows the cause of for once, and it’s all because of that _feeling_. The one he still can’t seem to shake no matter what he does.

The one that has him dodging into alleys and down side streets, taking two or sometimes three different buses that go a roundabout way back in the direction of the flat instead of the straight shot route he normally takes. Stopping into corner shops and takeaway places he doesn’t even plan on buying anything from just to sneak out the toilet windows so his trail goes dead. If there’s even actually anyone following him.

He’s still half-convinced he’s being paranoid, seeing things, _people_ , that aren’t there. But it makes him feel better to take the precaution even if it does take him twice as long to get to work and back home.

He still hasn’t told Liam yet though. Doesn’t want Liam to feel like he needs to worry unnecessarily especially when he’s still not entirely sure whether this is all just down to him being paranoid or not, but Danny knows. Zayn still feels a bit guilty about it, keeping this from Liam when he’d told Danny pretty much as soon as he’d started feeling this way but he needs to be _sure_. Needs some kind of proof or confirmation that this isn’t all just in his head before he can feel okay enough to dump this all on Liam. Because the last thing he wants is to have Liam freaking out or to drive him into a panic over what could very well turn out to be nothing and leave Liam feeling just as paranoid as _he_ is on top of it all, constantly worrying and looking over his shoulder, never feeling safe. He feels guilty enough as it is that Liam even has to deal with any of his mess, so if there’s even a chance that he could be wrong about all this then he has to keep it between just him and Danny for as long as he possibly can until he’s absolutely sure.

He knows Liam’s starting to get suspicious though, especially with the amount of times Zayn’s come home late in the last couple of weeks. Knows that he won’t be able to keep it up for much longer before Liam finally confronts him about it.

And when he inevitably does all Zayn can do is give him shitty, half-assed excuses about traffic and messed up bus schedules and other people’s shifts needing to be covered and Zayn _hates_ lying to him. But it’s a necessary evil until he knows for sure that it’s not just his fucked up brain playing tricks on him. So for now he just shoves down the guilt and the stress and the stupid nightmares and tries his best to keep going even though he feels like he’s slowly losing his mind.

*

Zayn’s standing at the end of the crisps aisle near the back of the petrol station with Liam when something in the air suddenly starts to feel off.

He gives a quick, cursory glance around and right away he notices there are more people inside than usual, more people than there were just a moment ago. Which is unusual since this is the “abandoned one” as Liam likes to call it, and there’s rarely more than about five people in here at a time on a good day, and that’s including the cashier. Right now though Zayn can count at least eleven other heartbeats besides his own. But that’s not even what concerns him the most.

The woman in the toiletry aisle the next row over, the one that came in shortly after him and Liam, has walked back and forth down it three times without picking up anything. There’s a man standing by the door of the toilets in the back corner who looks to be typing something on his phone but keeps glancing in their direction out of the corner of his eye. And there’s another man standing back by the refrigerated section with the drinks who’s been standing there in the same spot for far too long.

He can’t see what the woman’s wearing from behind the aisle that separates them, though he remembers enough to know it wasn’t anything remarkable. The two men though are both wearing plain civilian clothes, jeans and t-shirts and jackets. But even in that brief glance over his shoulder when he spotted the man by the refrigerated section Zayn could see the slight bulge at the back of his hip under the hem of his t-shirt and jacket. The telltale sign of a sidearm clipped to his waist and he turns to Liam, voice low, and whispers frantically, “Get to the front of the store.”

“What?” Liam says, turning to him with furrowed brows.

“I said I think we should get this one,” he says bringing his voice back up to a normal level, pointing to one of the packets of crisps for emphasis. “You’re always saying how you don’t like these ones but then you steal mine so we may as well just get it.”

He lets out a little fake laugh to make it sound a bit more convincing, and Liam is staring at him now, eyes narrowed in a confused little squint.

“Front. Of the store. _Now_ ,” he repeats through gritted teeth, voice still low as he grabs the packet and hands it to Liam. “Stay down when I give the order,” he mumbles, giving Liam an affectionate pat on the bum to make like he’s just trying to send him on his way to the cashier. Liam nods dumbly, turns back to eye him a little funny as he goes but right now Zayn doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting him and Liam and any other innocent by-standers out of here alive and in one piece.

He can hear the heartbeat of a child two aisles over and an even fainter one echoing a much stronger one not too far from them and curses to himself, realizing the mother or whoever it is that came with the child is pregnant. The cashier’s still standing idly at the front, flipping lazily through a magazine while he chews a piece of gum and there’s a short older man with a stoop asking Liam for help to reach something on one of the top shelves at the front that the man can’t quite get to.

That leaves three still unaccounted for and any one of them, or all three of them, could be hostiles. He knows generally where they are in the shop. Had seen the tops of at least two more heads peaking out over the shelves of the sweets aisle in his brief glance before and can hear a third heartbeat still coming from that general direction. Unfortunately that still doesn’t tell him much except that the third person’s too short to clear the top shelf.

He’ll just have to wing it and narrow down who’s who as he goes.

He scopes out the doors, marking all the exits and noting which ones are unobstructed. The toilets where there’s likely windows are still blocked by the second man on his phone, but the front door and the emergency exit are both clear, though he has a feeling there’s still more of them waiting out in the side alley where the emergency exit leads. It’s what he and his team would’ve done back in the program.

He takes a moment to think about where he is in relation to the initial three hostiles, what his best plan of action is as far as neutralizing them and getting everyone else out safely. But right when he’s about to make his move there’s a sudden commotion from the other side of the shop. From the sweets aisle where the other three possible hostiles are.

Zayn hears a brief stuttered apology, which is then quickly cut off by a high-pitched shriek from the same person, something that sounds like a packet falling to the floor with a smack, and then, “He’s got a gun! He’s got a gun!”

A young girl who couldn’t be more than fifteen with dyed purple hair in a pixie cut comes running out around the front of the aisles, the cashier snapping his head up in shock, fingers shaking as he fumbles to open the cash register.

“Take it! Please just take whatever you want, just don’t shoot!” he yells frantically once he’s got it open, looking in the direction of the aisle the girl just ran out from with his hands raised as he backs away from the register and Zayn knows a cue when he sees one.

The two men closest to him are standing too close together and that was their first mistake. Zayn whirls himself on them quick as a whip, bridges the five foot gap between them easily, knocking them both out with a swift kick and punch and grabs both their guns, stuffing them quickly in his hoodie pocket. Swerves down the toiletry aisle where the woman is and kicks the gun out of her hand almost as soon as she’s pulled it out of her holster, knocking her down to the ground with a shove so hard her head hits the ground with a sharp crack. And then he’s grabbing for her gun too and scrambling up over the top of the shelves, hopping from one to the next in a flash until he’s standing above the last two hostiles, a man and a woman.

He’s not sure how much time’s passed since he made that first move but he’s guessing it can’t have been more than thirty seconds, a minute tops maybe, because the man’s still standing there at front of the aisle looking pissed that he got caught out by a little girl. Has only just started to reach for his gun when he turns sharply at the sound of Zayn’s light footfalls landing on the top of the shelf above him.

His eyes go wide for a moment as he looks up at Zayn in an expression that seems to be a mix of both surprise and recognition before they’re narrowing again in contempt. And as the man snakes his hand down toward his waist Zayn steps effortlessly over the tiny little gap of space that separates the neat line of shelves that make up the whole wall of the aisle, and kicks the first shelf in the line over so it goes toppling down over the man, the edge of it hitting him sharply in the head as it goes. The woman, standing just a few feet behind, gets caught up and pulled down with the man as he’s knocked backwards landing down at her feet. But she’s a bit faster and a bit more prepared than the man was and so the second she hits the ground she’s grabbing for her gun and aiming it up at Zayn, gaze cold.

Zayn’s still got the other woman’s gun in his hand and he raises it at the same time he sees her raise hers and yells sharply, “Drop it!”

But she holds fast, gaze calculating as she looks from him to the small flock of people now huddled together in fear at the front of the shop, some of them shaking and teary-eyed. Looks at them as if she’s contemplating something.

She’s been caught and there’s too many witnesses. Too many people that have had too long a chance now to get a good look at her face. Maybe even get a call out to the police. It hasn’t happened yet or Zayn would have heard it but she doesn’t know that. She’s desperate, Zayn can see it in her face even behind the anger, which means she’s not thinking clearly, letting her emotions cloud her judgment. Forgetting basic things like the fact that there’s security cameras that will have her on tape killing all these people from every angle if she goes through with it.

He sees her move as if she’s about to cock the hammer and he yells again, harsher this time, “Drop it! Drop it or I shoot!”

But she ignores him, cocking it anyway and turning the barrel on the others and Zayn pulls the trigger before she can, aims the shot for her hands and she screams in pain, gun clattering to the floor.

Zayn turns to the small of huddle of people, finds Liam’s face among them, arms wrapped protectively around the purple-haired girl, the pregnant woman, and the little boy with her now crying.

“Get them out! Get them all out!” he yells to Liam and Liam nods gravely, urging everyone towards the door in a rush and already pulling out his phone, most likely to call the police, as Zayn turns back to the woman. He listens for the sound of the front door closing behind him and then he’s jumping down to give a swift, harsh punch to the side of the woman’s head that has her dropping back down to the floor, limp as a ragdoll before he grabs her gun too.

Suddenly he hears another door being kicked open from the back of the store. Realizes the rest of their team that’s probably been out in the alley waiting for him must’ve either seen the others running out the front or heard all the commotion in here from outside and are coming in to try and finish the job. Zayn glances over to the front door briefly to make sure everyone’s made it out safely before he’s bounding around up the aisles and back toward the emergency exit as quick as he can. Shoving the three men and one woman, trying to shoulder their way inside to get to him, right back out into the alley where there are no security cameras to see what he’s about to do.

One of them starts to say something that sounds like the beginning of a code word but before the man can even get a syllable out Zayn kicks him hard in the chest, hears the faint sound of his ribs cracking. The force of it not only knocks the breath out of the man’s now punctured lung but also knocks him back into the other three, throwing them all off balance long enough for Zayn to fire off four precise shots to the centers of their heads.

Thankfully all of their guns are fitted with special program-issued silencers, as is standard for most missions, and that work much more effectively than most regular silencers so he doesn’t have to worry about the shots ringing out and alerting Liam and the others, or anyone else who might be passing by, to what he’s just done.

There’s two black vans behind where the other four hostiles had previously been standing, a little further down the alley, which strikes him as a bit odd because he’d been expecting a standard mission truck. White with the big yellow and black Hertz logo on the side. But regardless of what vehicles they all came in he knows what’s coming. Shoves the now half-empty gun back into his hoodie pocket in favor of the two with the clips still full, ignoring the first empty van, and aims both at the still closed doors of the second van, waiting.

Not ten seconds pass before six more armed men and women come bursting through the van’s double doors, guns at the ready. But they’re not moving nearly fast enough to keep up with him, especially not when he’d already been ready and waiting for them, and it’s almost too easy to pick them all off one by one before any of them can even get more than a shot off.

Once they’re all down he checks them over, feeling each one for their pulse to make sure they’re all really dead.

They are.

He’d known that already by the lack of heartbeats echoing in their ribcages but it never hurts to be sure. Unfortunately there’s nothing to be done for the ones still inside. He can’t very well kill them in plain view of all the cameras and it’d look too suspicious if he suddenly went back in and dragged them all out the emergency exit and out here, so he’s just gonna have to settle with leaving them as they are.

In the meantime he digs into his pocket and dumps out all the guns to the ground, secure in the knowledge that all of this— the guns, the vans, the bodies, even the ones still inside—will be cleaned up or patched up and all traces of them ever having been here gone probably within the hour.

As the last gun clatters across the rough asphalt and the faint sound of police sirens rings out in the distance Zayn feels a sudden twinge as he moves to shove his now cold hands back into the warmth of his hoodie pocket. There’s a faint pain just above his right elbow and he realizes belatedly that one of them must have managed to hit him after all, though their aim was still shitty because from the feel of it all they managed was the barest graze, a small flesh wound. Although he supposes given how things went that their intent was likely more to try and bring him back in than to kill him. In which case a simple disabling shot to distract Zayn or wound him enough to get him to pause his assault long enough to be taken down might’ve worked had the guy not still missed the mark by catching him with a meager graze. But then again the guy was probably too busy getting shot dead to do much proper aiming anyway so all in all the man even getting a hit in at all is admirable in an objective-appreciation-for-a-fellow-gunman kind of way.

Looking around to figure out his best getaway route, Zayn walks back down the alley in the opposite direction of the vans and bodies. Edges his way around the backside of the kebob shop next door, rounding the corner to the pavement of a little side street where he very nearly runs right into Liam.

“Wha— _Liam_?”

“Oh, thank God,” Liam sighs, rushing forward to smother him in a hug. “I had a feeling you’d come this way. Less eyes on you and that.” A brief pause, and then after a moment, “Are you okay? Let me look at you.”

Liam pulls back to check him over, eyes roaming worriedly over his face and all down his body and then back up. The blood from Zayn’s flesh wound hasn’t starting to leak through the thick material of his hoodie yet for which he’s thankful because it would only make Liam worry when he didn’t need to.

“I’m fine,” Zayn says with a nod and smile. “What about you? And everyone else? Did you all make it out okay?”

Liam nods quickly. “Yeah, they’re all fine. _I’m_ fine. All thanks to you.”

“What about the pregnant woman? Did she seem like she was in any pain or discomfort or anything?” he says a little desperately because the last thing he wants is to be the reason that poor woman had a miscarriage and lost her baby all because of him. _God_ , he’d endangered them all, all those innocent people just by being _him_. He’d _known_ they were after him, felt it for weeks. Why hadn’t he just trusted his instincts? If he had, _none_ of this would’ve happened.

“Pregnant woman?” Liam repeats with furrowed brows.

“The woman that was with the little boy.”

“She was—she was _pregnant_? How do you know that?”

“Heartbeat. I could hear the baby’s heartbeat, but _Liam_. Was she _okay_?”

“Yeah, she—I mean, she was—she seemed fine. I didn’t…I didn’t know, I didn’t…think to ask, but she didn’t mention being in any pain. She was just happy we were able to get out. She kept asking about you. They all were. I didn’t tell them much obviously, just that you’d had training and worked in security for a long time and knew what you were doing, but _God_ , I was _so_ worried. I was so scared they’d taken you or hurt you or—or worse, but…you’re okay, yeah? I mean really okay?”

“I’m okay. _Really_. Promise. Now, come on, let’s hurry up and get home before the cops come snooping around over here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Liam says stepping into line beside him as they walk side by side by down the pavement and through a flurry of winding side streets to get back to the flat.

Three-fourths of the way there with the remaining adrenaline finally fully fading from his system and reality kicking back in he realizes he needs to call Danny, warn him, just in case they’ve found him too.

He spends nearly ten minutes on Liam’s phone, relaying everything that happened and all the details he can remember. Of what happened today and also what he remembers seeing before, when he still thought he was just imagining things, so Danny can know what to be on the lookout for and what to expect if they come after him too. And it’s cathartic honestly, getting it all out, all the details of what happened and what he’d had to do, realizing for real now that he’s not just going mental, even if that would’ve been the safer alternative.

It feels familiar in a way, like a mission report, except that every time he mentions anything offhand about feeling guilty or bad about how things happened; all the innocent lives he endangered or how it wouldn’t have happened if he’d just stopped second-guessing himself, Danny reassures him. Reminds Zayn that _he_ didn’t make the decision to storm a petrol station full of innocent people or turn guns on scared children just because his employers are desperate and scrambling and willing to do anything to get all their little robotic slave ducks back in a neat little row in their stupid program. And that even with all of that he’d still managed to save all those people and get them out safely, and in the process take down a few of the “ugly bastards” to boot so they couldn’t come back to torment or endanger anyone else.

And even though Zayn had known in the back of his mind that all of that was true before he’d talked to Danny, somehow hearing it out loud repeated back to him is different still. Makes it feel more real and tangible and meaningful so that it’s clouding out all the bad, guilty thoughts in the back of his mind instead of being overpowered by them. But as therapeutic as it is getting everything out to Danny he can feel Liam steadily getting tenser and tenser beside him. And by the time they reach their flat and he’s hanging up and handing the phone back, Liam’s mouth is set in a grim line and Zayn doesn’t know if it’s anger or disappointment for what Zayn did back there after Liam left—which Liam now knows every detail of—or something else entirely.

“Liam?” he says tentatively as Liam unlocks the door and steps inside without a word, Zayn following closely behind. “Are…are you—”

“If you’re about to ask if I’m angry, then yes.”

“Because of…” Zayn hesitates, swallows, “because of what I…what I did?”

Liam pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and blows out a breath. “No. Not because of what you did. Because of what you _said_.”

“What I…said?” Zayn repeats confused, brows scrunching up in confusion.

“I heard your _entire_ phone conversation, Zayn…you told _Danny_ before you told _me_?”

“What? I— _No_ , I…It’s not like that, Liam, just…I was half-convinced I was just being paranoid, okay? I wasn’t sure if what I thought I was seeing or…thought was happening was even _real_. And I knew if I told you, you would worry and I didn’t want you to worry over something you didn’t have to.”

“You still should’ve _told_ me. Even if…even if it’s something that makes me worry I still want to know what’s going on. Because I’m gonna worry anyway whether you tell me what it is or not. And you _not_ telling me only makes me worry more because I have _no idea_ what to think. I mean…my mind was going _all_ over the place, Zayn. God, I thought you were doing something _illegal_ , for Christ’s sake, or—or getting mixed up in something dangerous and I just…I just need you tell me these things, okay? Even if you don’t tell me everything, just give me _something_ , yeah?”

“I know, I know…I’m sorry. It’s just…easier sometimes…to talk to him about things.”

“I know,” Liam says a little sadly, dropping down to the couch, Zayn following suit next to him.

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to talk to you about it though. I _do_ —” Zayn says hastily, but Liam cuts him off.

“It’s okay. I get it. I do. He was there with you and he knows what it’s like. And he helps you, I know that, I can _see_ that. I just don’t want to feel like I’m being purposefully shut out all the time and I know that’s not your intention but that’s how it feels sometimes. And that’s not all on you, I’m not trying to, like, lay all the blame for everything on you or make you feel bad or anything, I just want to be included in these kinds of things, even if it’s just the barest minimum of details.” He pauses, shakes his head dismissively, sighs. “But that’s a whole other conversation for another time. Besides, it’s not even what matters right now anyway, is it? I mean… _Christ_ , Zayn, what the hell do we even _do_?”

Zayn shakes his own head miserably, drops it down to his hands, mumbling, “I don’t know, I don’t know. I mean, they know where we are, they know I’m _alive_ and if they kept it up this long, looking for me, there’s no way they’re stopping now that they’ve found me. They’re only gonna keep coming. But…they won’t be back for a while, I think. Not after the hits they took today. They need time to regroup, come up with a better plan, figure out their next move. It’ll probably be close to a week at least before they try again. S’usually about the standard for failed missions with high-level targets. And depending on what their numbers are like, whether or not they’ve got back-ups to replace the people they lost and that, they might need even more time to find and/or train replacements and give their injured a chance to recuperate, which could work in our favor.”

“But…what does that—what does that mean for us?” Liam says, voice shaky and a little panicked now. “I mean, are we, like…are we gonna have to, like, go on the run or…or change our names, leave our friends and families behind, or, or…”

“Hey,” Zayn says gently, taking Liam’s face in his hands. “Don’t worry about that, okay? Let me worry about all that. I can figure this out, this is what I was trained for. I’m not gonna let them just upend our lives like this, okay? I promise. No one’s leaving anyone or changing their names or anything like that. This isn’t some spy movie, yeah?”

“Sure feels like one,” Liam says with a rueful smile.

Zayn laughs, short and sad. “I know. I know. But…we can still live our lives. We’re just gonna have to be a bit more careful. Just give me some to think, okay? Figure out how to handle this. I know how they think, what their next moves will probably be. They’re predictable, which means they can be outsmarted. And I don’t care what I have to do, I _will_ get us out of this. I don’t care if I have to take down every single one of them, I’m not letting them tear us apart ever again.”

Liam smiles and it’s a little less sad this time as he presses their foreheads together and sighs softly. “I know I probably shouldn’t find that hot, but…I kind of do. _God_ , we’re a messed up pair, aren’t we?”

Zayn laughs softly, bumps his nose against Liam’s. “Messed up together, right?”

Liam’s still smiling when he says, “Always.”*

*

Zayn’s been going over and over everything in his head ever since it happened. Everything about the ambush; the way they went about it, when and where they chose to do it, how many people they had, what kind of weapons they brought, what their combat skills were like. Even how long they’d been following him before, when and to where, what kind of clothes they were wearing, and what methods they used to try to blend in.

He knows they know where he lives, or at least have a pretty good idea. But they probably don’t know which flat he’s actually in. And they won’t come in to find out because that would require either following him inside or banging down literally every single door in the building and that’s way too obvious for them, especially with the way they seem to be going about things with him now, clearly trying to be extra careful and cautious and low-key. They might not have qualms about making a scene when it comes to things that can be explained away as something else fairly easily, like a “bank robbery” or a “petrol station stick-up,” but there’s no good way to cover up a team of armed assailants busting down every door in a random flat building. And they won’t corner him at work either because that’s too many people. It’s right in the busiest part of the city at a place that’s patronage is rapidly growing, and there’s no good way to cover up or pass off a random shoot-out at an up-and-coming pub or the murder of all the civilian witnesses they’d have to kill in the process both inside and around the area just to get to him.

No, they’ll probably come for him somewhere secluded and quiet this time. Like an alley or an underground car park, an empty bus stop late at night—all things relatively easy for him to avoid until he’s ready to draw them out—because they’re trying to be careful and inconspicuous. Trying not to be detected.

He can tell just how discreet they’re trying to be with all this, even more so than they usually would, probably thinking he wouldn’t notice them or at least trying to be strategic and subtle enough to hope he wouldn’t. And that might’ve worked on another operative. Someone lower ranked maybe or slightly less observant. But he’s him. And he has.

He’s not falling for this whole false sense of safety charade they’re trying to pass off. Trying to make it seem like they’re not doing exactly what he knows they’ll do, what he can _see_ them doing. As if they would really just fall back and stop watching him, stop trying to find opportunities to catch him again now that they’ve found him.

They must think he’s stupid. Probably used to dealing with operatives who literally didn’t have a single original thought in their heads, but he’s not the one. You don’t get to Alpha Team by being average. And being above average requires more than just skill. You have to be able to think on your feet, make lightning fast decisions, analyze the outcomes of different scenarios before you engage, be hyperaware of everything around you. Always assessing, always analyzing, always cataloguing—whether it’s your surroundings, your opponent’s size or strength or fighting style, what’s nearby that could be used as a weapon either for or against you. What a target’s saying and what it means and why they might be saying it or who they’re saying it to, what the best method is to get a particular target to talk, what a target or a potential opponent’s (because they’re not always the same) strengths and weaknesses might be. And on and on and on.

You don’t gain that level of skill by just following orders blindly despite what the Director and the program funders and any number of the other program personnel might have wanted to believe. He can’t count the number of times he would’ve been caught or killed on a mission if he had followed his orders exactly as they were given—and when it came to completing missions they were happy to ignore that as long as it meant the mission was successful. But things were different inside the bunker.

Inside those walls following blindly was what was expected, _demanded_. So hiding his thoughts and reactions, pretending like he didn’t have a single thing going on inside his head besides what he was told to became second nature. And the other operatives on Alpha Team may have hid it well just like him, though he’s certain they had more going on than they let on too. But that’s not the point.

The point is they clearly don’t know who they’re dealing with. And that’s not to sound cocky or conceited or anything of the sort. Just that he knows his skillset and they should too. Should be going about this better than they are. But the fact that they don’t and aren’t tells him a lot.

Tells him maybe they don’t know as much about him as they should, as he figured they would have. Which means information, and possibly resources, are thin. They’re scrambling. Desperate enough to go in underprepared with a team of Handlers, or whatever they were, who don’t even know how to properly conceal a weapon well enough that trained eyes like his won’t be able to spot it, much less a random teenage girl. Whether it’s that they were inadequately trained or just too used to relying on code words, or some combination of the two, he couldn’t tell. But they’re clearly not the program’s best. Or at least not based on the standards he knows. Maybe with funding and resources running thin this is the best they can do.

But whatever the case it’s not a good look for them because it means it’ll only be that much easier for him to keep beating them at their own game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *be alright plays in the background lol
> 
> so i did promise things would be moving a bit faster in this one and here we are 4 chapters in and already getting to the meaty nitty gritty action/first main conflict (instead of the like 10+ chapters y’all had to wait last time lol so sorry) but woot! hope you liked it! i, for one, definitely enjoyed writing it even though action’s not usually really my thing when it comes to writing, but anyway let me know what you thought in the comments :)
> 
>  
> 
> **also want to point out that the opinions expressed on certain kinks in this chapter in no way reflect how I as the author necessarily feel about them, they’re simply a reflection of how I think the characters would feel about them and I don’t want anyone to feel ashamed or guilty or anything if one (or more) of the things mentioned is something you’re into. no kink shaming here, be proud of all your kinks (even if they’re intellectual lol)!**
> 
>  
> 
> also also shoutout to PastLivesZi! y’all can thank them for goading me into including a bottom liam scene lol, i wasn’t gonna do it/show it for this verse (even though it is my personal preference and most of the other wip’s i’m currently working on are bottom liam) because it just felt more right with this arc for it to be bottom zayn and i figured i’d just put the implication there like i did towards the end of the first fic, maybe give a vague reference or two, and leave it open for interpretation/imagination, but PastLivesZi (and i think a couple other people? sorry my memory’s shit) mentioned it and kept bringing it up on the last few chapters of that fic while i was already in the process of starting to write this one and eventually i figured why not. just to switch it up at least once (maybe more, but no promises) just because. so yeah. hope you liked it. 
> 
> [also also also: sorry it ended up with liam being so power-bottomy, i swear that was not even my intention when i started writing that scene, it just kind of happened and then i just kind of ran with it. apologies if that wasn’t what all you bottom liam fans were looking for and feel free to yell at me and/or shake your proverbial fists at me in the comments lol]


	5. Chapter 5

_Program Server_

**26 February 2018, 0902 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Requesting status update on operative retrieval mission.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**28 February 2018, 1232 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Operative was noncompliant, defiant, and unable to be subdued or apprehended. Ten agents down, five additional wounded – one still in critical condition, one out of fighting commission for foreseeable future due to nature of injuries sustained. Mission unsuccessful. Plans for follow-up mission commenced. Back-up TAC Team in process of being briefed. Third retrieval attempt set for 13 March 2018, time to be determined as per operative’s varying schedule.

– TAC Team Agent A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos = LOVE  
> so share the love! :)
> 
> **quick reminder of[my inspo for handler a](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/handler-a) so there's no confusion on that part**
> 
> (also, off topic, but for all you bottom liam enthusiasts: be on the lookout for a bottom liam fic to be posted soon, ziam ofc but not in this verse, i'll prob link to it on this fic and/or on tumblr when it's posted)


	6. Chapter 6

_Liam_

It’s not a nice day out, grey and overcast with ominous clouds looming overhead. But Liam’s not letting that stop him and Zayn from enjoying it. According to the forecast it’s not supposed to rain till later in the evening and the humidity in the air’s made it so it’s a little warmer than usual for this time of year. Not quite summertime warm but maybe early spring warm (even though it’s still winter with it being late February). Chilly but just comfortable enough that at least his fingers and toes don’t feel like they’re going to fall off just from being outside for a little while. They walk around the neighborhood, up through the park, and the movement warms them up a little bit, a comfortable silence between them as the both of them enjoy just being outside together, being able to spend time like this alone together out in the open air, and it’s nice even if the weather isn’t.

But it’s been a few hours since they ate breakfast this morning and Liam’s starting to get a bit hungry, figures Zayn probably is by now too so they make a pit stop at the petrol station up the block for some snacks to eat on their walk back to the flat. It’s the abandoned one so Liam’s not really expecting it to be very full, but is a little surprised to find once they get inside that there’s about twice as many people than there normally are milling about and a couple more coming in behind him and Zayn.

By the time they get to the end of the snack aisle Zayn’s gone unusually quiet. Not that either of them had really been talking all that much to begin with on this little impromptu trek of theirs, having spent most of it in companionable silence just enjoying each other’s company. But he doesn’t say anything when Liam quotes a corny line from one of the crisp brand’s adverts.

“Walker’s Sensations, a feast for the senses,” he says in his best approximation of an overdramatic narrator voice.

But Zayn’s silent and still as stone beside him.

“Okay,” Liam says, long and drawn out, “someone’s clearly not in a joking mood today.”

Zayn still doesn’t say anything for a moment, face half-obscured by the shadow of his hood but then suddenly he’s turning to Liam and mumbling something, tone low but urgent. “Get to the front of the store.”

“What?” Liam says, turning back to him in confusion.

“I said I think we should get this one,” Zayn says then, casual, voice coming back up to its normal level like he wasn’t just whispering urgently as he points to one of the packets of crisps. “You’re always saying how you don’t like these ones but then you steal mine so we may as well just get it.”

He lets out a short laugh that sounds almost genuine but not quite, not to Liam anyway now that he knows the difference, and Liam just stares, squints in confusion trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

“Front. Of the store. _Now_ ,” Zayn repeats through gritted teeth, voice low again as he grabs the packet from off the shelf and hands it to Liam. “Stay down when I give the order,” he mumbles, giving Liam a pat on the bum to urge him along.

Liam nods dumbly, feeling a bit like he’s in a daze as he turns back to glance at Zayn, trying to see if he can read his face, figure out what’s going on, what’s got him acting this way all of a sudden. But Zayn’s face is impassive, unreadable, and so Liam just turns back around and does what he’s told. Knows Zayn wouldn’t just react this way out of the blue without a good reason, even if Liam isn’t aware of exactly what that is yet.

He’s just about to step up to the register when someone stops him.

“Excuse me,” says a shaky voice from off to his side and Liam turns to find a squat older man with a stoop trying to get his attention. “So sorry to bother you, dear boy, but if you wouldn’t mind could you be a lad and get that box of donuts down for me?” He points with a frail arm up to the top of the shelf he’s standing in front of which is just out of his reach and Liam nods, rushing over.

“Course, here you go, sir.” Liam pulls down the box closest to him and hands it to the man with a polite smile, which the old man returns brightly.

“Thank you so much. Good lad. If only there were more like you around.”

Liam laughs, ducks his head a bit bashfully. “It was no problem, sir, really.”

“Well, still, thank you aga—” he starts but his words are cut off by a loud shriek from the other side of the shop and then pounding footsteps and both the man and Liam turn around in surprise to see a young girl with short, bright purple hair come running out from the last aisle at the other end of the shop.

“He’s got a gun! He’s got a gun!” she’s yelling hysterically.

Her eyes are wide and panicked as she points back in the direction she came and at the sound of her frantic yelling the cashier whips his head up from the magazine he’d previously been engrossed in. His mouth drops open as he stares with wide eyes in the direction of the aisle at what Liam is presuming must be the man with the gun, still partially obscured from Liam’s view by the row of shelves. Then the cashier’s shaking his head back and forth quickly, hands shaking as he rushes to open the cash register.

“Take it! Please just take whatever you want, just don’t shoot!” he yells once he’s managed to get it open, raising his hands in surrender as he backs away from the register.

“Get down,” Liam whispers to the old man, crouching and pulling the man down with him as carefully as he can as he beckons the girl over to him too.

Suddenly there’s a thud, a faint clattering sound, and then a loud, sharp crack and another brief clatter from the back of the shop, all in quick succession, and then Zayn appears hopping over the tops of the shelves like a scene out of a movie.

Liam wraps arms around the man and the girl and, still crouching, starts trying to edge them all closer to the other side of the shop, closer to the door, as quickly and discreetly as he can. He only just manages to catch a glimpse of the man with the gun from his new angle before Zayn sends one of the shelves tumbling down on top of him in a loud crash and a woman comes into view. Knocked over in the fray, her cold eyes tell Liam everything he needs to know for him to know that she’s not a victim but another person to fear.

Liam keeps moving, edging himself and the others along and as they get further and further away from the scene he starts to hear something that sounds like soft murmuring and turns to find another woman hunched over a little boy in the aisle now closest to them, whispering and mumbling to him comfortingly. Liam waves a frantic hand trying his best to get her attention without making too much noise and when she sees him he beckons her over. But she shakes her head quickly, glancing warily around as if she’s afraid someone might come running over and shoot them right then and there and then wraps her arms tighter around the little boy. Liam just beckons her over again, pointing to the door, hoping his silent message is clear enough. If anything happens they’ve got a better chance of getting out quickly the closer they are to the door than they do trapped in the middle of an aisle in the center of the shop.

She shakes her head once more and Liam tries again, and then again until finally she relents, grabbing the little boy’s hand and keeping him shielded with her free arm, head ducked, as they rush over to join Liam and the others.

Liam looks up at the cashier then, still frozen with his hands raised in surrender as he hears Zayn yell, “Drop it!”

Zayn’s got a gun, from God knows where, pointed down at the woman with the cold eyes but she has a gun out now too, aimed up at Zayn, and Liam’s heart thumps loud in his chest, echoing in his ears. His mind’s screaming at him to _do something_ but there’s nothing he can do without risking his life and Zayn’s life and the lives of everyone else in here too so he just shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Tells himself that Zayn’s gonna be okay, he knows what he’s doing, if there’s anyone who can figure a way out of this it’s him. _Zayn’s gonna be okay, Zayn’s gonna be fine_ , _we’re all gonna be fine_ , he repeats to himself in his head, over and over again until he believes it.

When he opens his eyes again the cashier is glancing nervously back and forth between the woman with the gun and the little huddle of people Liam’s gathered. And then he’s ducking frantically under the little side door near the end of the counter and scrambling over to them on hands and knees.

The woman’s still got her gun aimed up at Zayn but she’s eyeing them now too, looks coldly from them to Zayn and then back again before she’s narrowing her eyes, hand shifting over the back of the gun.

“Drop it! Drop it or I shoot!” Zayn yells, a guttural anger in his voice that somehow still rings with the surest authority.

But the woman acts like she doesn’t even hear him, and Liam hears the sound of it cocking as she turns the gun on them. He tightens his grip around the people he can reach easily, not even sure who it is he’s grabbing onto and ducks them all further down with him, squeezing his eyes shut. Someone lets out a muffled sound into his shoulder that sounds like a cross between a scream and a loud sob as they all brace for what’s sure to come. But the next thing Liam knows there’s an anguished howl of pain from the direction where the woman is and the sound of metal on linoleum as the gun clatters loudly to the floor.

Liam opens his eyes, stunned and a little disoriented. He hadn’t even heard a shot go off but Zayn’s still standing over her on the top of the shelf, gun pointed in her direction as the woman’s hands gush with blood, her face contorted in a mix of pain and shock.

Zayn’s hood still shields most of his face but Liam knows when Zayn turns back to all of them that Zayn’s looking at _him_ when he yells, “Get them out! Get them all out!”

Liam nods, herding everyone with him the rest of the way towards the door as quickly as he can, urging them through as he grabs frantically for his phone to call the police. He doesn’t want to call, terrified of putting Zayn in danger by putting all this on the cops’ radar, but he knows he has to. And either way Zayn’s not safe anymore anyway. At least with the police it’s the lesser of two evils.

Once they’re all outside and he’s gotten the call out he makes the rounds over everyone else, making sure they’re all okay and that no one’s hurt or in need of immediate medical attention. Everyone’s pretty shaken up understandably, including him, but they’re all okay at least. No one’s injured and Zayn’s hopefully taking care of whatever else he needs to do to make sure no one else is coming out after all of them.

“What about the other man?” the woman with the child asks. “The one who saved us? He’s still in there, isn’t he?”

She’s still shaking, one fist clenched tight and held close to her chest like she’s trying to calm herself down while she presses the little boy into her side with her other arm. He’s shaking too, face buried in her shirt, possibly crying, but otherwise silent.

“It’s okay,” Liam reassures her. “He’s got training. He’s—he’s worked in security for a long time, he knows what he’s doing.”

There’s a choked off sob from somewhere off to his left and Liam turns to find the purple-haired girl dropping to her knees on the ground, breathing harshly in between more soft sobs, tears streaming down her face.

Liam starts to rush over to comfort her but the cashier’s closer and he gets there before Liam does, dropping to his knees in front of the girl and trying his best to calm her. She’s too distraught to get any words out when he tries to ask her name, but he tells her his and whispers comforting words to her and lets her cry into his shoulder until her breathing slows down and her sobs go a little quieter.

The old man’s just stood off to Liam’s other side, staring around at everything and everyone in view like he’s lost.

“Are you alright, sir?” Liam says shuffling over to him.

The man looks around some more, shaking his head a little slowly, before his eyes finally land back on Liam. “I just…I just can’t believe that happened. I…I can’t believe…” he trails off, looks around again and lets out a little soft puff of breath, and then, locking eyes with Liam once more, says, “ _Thank you_. For getting us out. For _saving_ us. You truly are a hero, and your friend, too. You…you both saved all our lives.”

Liam shakes his head, starts to protest, tries to explain that he’s no different from any of the rest of them, but the man won’t have it and eventually Liam relents.

After another few minutes though when everyone’s calmed down a little more, more questions start up about Zayn, who still hasn’t come back out.

“What if he’s hurt?” the woman with the child asks, voice full of concern. “What if something else happened in there and he needs help?”

“D’you think there might have more of them in there?” the cashier says, sounding a little panicky as he stands off to the side with his arm still around the girl. “Like hiding or summat? What if something’s happened to him and they come back out here for us? What if he can’t get to them all?”

“He will,” Liam says with a surety he hadn’t known he felt until now. “He’ll be fine. And so will we. He knows what he’s doing, no one else is coming out to get us. He won’t let them.”

“But how do you know?” the girl says, voice small.

“I just do.”

Liam starts to get worried though when he hears the police sirens looming in the distance and Zayn still hasn’t come back out yet. He’d been hoping Zayn would be out before they got here so the two of them could discreetly slip away before too many questions arose, but it’s looking like he won’t be.

Unless.

Unless he already has.

Liam glances around the station stealthily, eyes landing on the corner at the left side of the building where the dumpsters are and that he’s pretty sure leads back to a long alley. If Zayn was looking to get away without being seen, sneaking out the back and looping around the opposite way to the side street back in that direction would be the way. Or _a_ way, at least. Liam’s just gonna have to hope he’s guessed right.

“I, um, I think I just heard something back that way,” he says to no one in particular, pointing a thumb to the opposite side of the building, the right side where there’s no alley, just a sidewalk that lines one side of the building, and starts edging his way back. “It might be my friend, I’m just gonna go check over there really quick and make sure everything’s okay, but in the meantime you all just stay here and wait for the police, yeah?”

He gets a couple of nods of assent with some slightly apprehensive looks, some of them probably worried that someone else might pop out from over there looking to hurt them. But he can’t let himself worry about that now. If he stays to reassure them he’ll only end up getting caught up with the cops again and that’s not good for him or Zayn. They’ll be alright, especially once the police get here which it’s sounding like they almost are.

He’s out of time. If he wants to protect Zayn he’s got to get out of here now. And if Zayn’s not where Liam thinks he is then Liam will just have to wait for him back at the flat and hope and pray he made it out okay.

*

He guesses right. Zayn finds him. Literally almost runs into him in his haste to keep moving and Liam’s so happy to see him he pulls Zayn in close and wraps him up in the tightest hug he can manage without even thinking.

Zayn could be hurt or in pain, he realizes a moment later, and he could be making it worse. He pulls himself back reluctantly, looks Zayn over but to his relief there’s nothing ripped or torn that he can see, no blood anywhere. Zayn looks about as pristine as he did when they first walked inside and Liam lets out a relieved breath.

The walk back to the flat is mostly quiet, both of them too wrapped up in their own thoughts and worries. Or at least it starts out quiet. But then Zayn asks to use Liam’s phone to call Danny and things take a bit of a dive. Well, for Liam anyway.

He’d been okay with the fact that Zayn often goes to Danny for reassurance or advice. Been okay with knowing that Zayn doesn’t necessarily tell him everything, feels more comfortable talking to Danny about certain things than he does Liam. And that’s fine, that he understands, that he can deal with, even if it sometimes leaves him feeling a little inadequate in comparison. But Zayn keeping something as big as _this_ from him? Knowing at any moment someone could’ve been watching them? Following them? Lying to Liam for _weeks_ about why he was taking so long to get home? Just to keep all this from him? While all the while _Danny_ knew? Knew every little thing that was going on and on top of it all just let Zayn keep this from him to boot?

Yes, he’s angry and he’s pretty sure he has every right to be. But he can also never stay angry at Zayn for very long and besides, they kind of have more pressing issues to deal with at the moment. Like what the hell they’re gonna do from here on out.

Zayn though, he’s _so_ fucking smart. For all that he makes crappy, sometimes borderline reckless decisions half the time when it comes to himself, with _this_ he knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows how to calculate those arseholes’ moves and what they’re most likely planning to do, how they’ll go about it and when and where, and come up with a plan of action, like it’s as easy as breathing. Liam’s constantly amazed by all that Zayn can do, probably won’t ever really be over it if he’s honest, but there’s still so much that just absolutely astounds him when he sees it in action.

Watching Zayn hop over the tops of rows upon rows of shelves like it was nothing; watching him take down two armed bad guys in a matter of minutes without even so much as breaking a sweat and saving the lives of nearly a dozen other innocent people in the process; even just watching his _mind_ work is incredible.

And Liam knows that somehow someway, no matter what it takes, Zayn’s gonna figure a way out of this. Figure out a way to keep him and Liam safe, to take them _all_ down and burn it all to the ground with them. Knows this without a shadow of doubt and with every fiber in his being.

*

“Does it hurt?” Liam asks, sat next to Zayn on the floor later that same evening watching Zayn stich up the small wound in his right arm, just above the back of his elbow from where a bullet apparently grazed him earlier. Yet another thing he hadn’t told Liam about until a small patch of blood had started to soak through the material of the grey hoodie he was wearing and spread its way around from the back of his sleeve to both of the sides where Liam could see. Now Zayn sits shirtless in the middle of the living room with a pile of bandages, damp half-bloody flannels, and the sewing kit open in front of him in a scene that’s eerily reminiscent of the night terror he had only a few days ago.

“M’fine,” he mumbles absently.

“That isn’t what I asked,” Liam says, tone gentle but solemn.

Zayn pauses, mid-stitch to look up at him, skin pulling a little and Liam makes a face.

Zayn laughs. “Your _face_. Christ, Liam, you look like I just took a shit on your carpet.” He snickers a little more, then shakes his head fondly, resuming his stitching. He’s quiet again for a little while longer before finally, “It only hurts a little. To answer your question.”

And then he’s done. Tying up the end and wrapping a large bandage around it.

Liam wraps his arms around his own knees and rests his chin on top of them and Zayn sighs softly scooting over to him and mirroring his position so their knees are pressed together, eyes level with Liam’s own.

“I’m _fine_. _Really_. Good as new.” He quirks one side of his lips up in a wry half smile and sticks his arm out for emphasis, twisting and turning and bending it every direction to prove his point. “By tomorrow it won’t even hurt at all anymore and in a week I’ll probably have forgotten all about it. It’ll just be a barely there scar that’ll likely fade to nothing before long.”

“I still hate that it happened at all.” Liam pouts.

“Yeah. Me too. But the bastard still got what was coming for him and so will the rest of them. We’re gonna be okay, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam says and it’s sad but hopeful at the same time.

*

The news isn’t good.

Well. It’s not bad either. But Zayn _being_ on the news isn’t good. Even if none of the cameras managed to quite catch his face and none of the other witnesses knew his name or got a good enough look at him to describe him.

The news anchors are calling him “The Hooded Hero” and they won’t stop playing the security footage from inside the petrol station over and over and over. They’ve interviewed everyone who was there and even people who _weren’t_ there about five times over—some of them neighbors or passersby who were nearby when it all happened and the police finally came rolling around. Others who just happened to be around after the fact when the news cameras came and just wanted to get in their opinion and their five minutes of fame.

Everyone wants to know who he is and why he won’t come forward and take credit for such a heroic act. The whole city’s enraptured with the story and Zayn even spent a couple of brief stints as a trending hashtag on Twitter under #WhoIsTheHoodedHero among a few others. Of which Liam’s personal favorite was #ComeDateMeHoodedHero which basically consisted of a bunch of people listing reasons why he should come forward so they could date him and/or hook up with him. Liam still goes to read those from time to time when he’s bored and looking for a laugh.

And then there’s the woman with the child, whose name Liam’s now learned is Mary Ella, who’d explained in one of her news interviews that she’d only been there to get a pregnancy test. But she’d also happened to see Zayn take down two other guys and another woman through a gap in between the shelves—the only other one to see it first-hand and not just on the security footage after the fact—so every news station was fighting to get her side of the story. But the really shocking part came when she eventually revealed that she was so awed by and thankful for what he’d done for them all, saving their lives and everything, that she’d decided to name her unborn baby after him if he ever made the choice to come forward and reveal his identity.

But that’s not even all. No one knows how it happened (except Liam and Zayn of course) but apparently all the evidence the cops collected from the scene went missing shortly after it was filed. Pictures, scraps of clothing, gun residue, blood and DNA samples all gone. Even the security footage had been tampered with by the time they were finally able to get a hold of it after running into some issue with the warrant and the security company that owns and keeps records of all the footage on the cameras they distribute; all of which got a rather vague explanation. Not to the mention the fact that what from Zayn told him there were at least two vans full of ten others out in the alley whose bodies should have been found but weren’t. According to all of the news reports and the police reports all that was found by the time they arrived on the scene were blood, gun residue, and a few loose threads of clothing. No reports of any bodies, dead or alive, or anyone else in or around the store besides the five witnesses, and no reports of any vans either, empty or otherwise in or around the area.

Then there’s the police who want Zayn to come forward for an entirely different reason of course. Him being the last one known to have been inside they’re hoping he’ll come forward and be able to tell them something about what happened after everyone got out and where all the “potential robbers” might have disappeared to. Because as far as the police and the general public know this was just a random petrol robbery that got stopped dead in its tracks. But the footage mysteriously cuts out a few minutes after Zayn’s seen running towards the back. And even though Liam knows where he was going it’s not really clear in the footage where exactly Zayn ends up running _to_ since the camera on that side was angled more in the direction of the toilets in the opposite corner and only shows him heading towards the back and then out of view. According to the timestamp in the corner of the video the missing chunk of time spans about two hours between the time it cuts out and then restarts. The whole video going black for only a few seconds before it cuts back to footage of the police milling about two hours later, already set up with their evidence markers and their crime scene photographers and everything as they sweep the scene.

The first time they’d revealed the news about the tampering Zayn had remarked that it was sloppy, grumbling out some sly comment about how there’d been operatives on Omega Team who could do a better job than that. How they must really be running thin and short-staffed if that was the best they could do.

“It’s practically basic knowledge,” he’d said, “to cut cameras or any other surveillance system out _before_ you go in. Or at least if you don’t have time for that beforehand, to go back after the fact and cut out all footage of anyone and anything relating to the program, not just cut out the footage of the recovery team. Desperation is making them stupid. They literally _left_ footage of Handlers, or whoever they were, intact and clear as day for their faces to be plastered all over the nightly news. Who the fuck does that?”

So basically the police don’t have much of anything, especially with virtually all their evidence gone now. Which means it’s become sort of a nightly thing to have the anchors pleading on the police’s behalf for Zayn to come forward since all they really have left is witness testimonies. But of course there’s no way in hell that’s happening.

*

Weeks pass like that with the news droning on and on about the “mysterious hooded hero” and the strange circumstances surrounding the “robbery” and it’s exhausting but also stressful. Because every single time it’s brought up, in the back of Liam’s mind he’s worrying they’ll uncover something that might lead back to him or Zayn. He knows it’s unlikely. All the other people who were there have said again and again that they barely even got a glimpse of Zayn’s face. Never heard Liam say Zayn’s name or even his own name for that matter, don’t know anything about them or where or how they might be able to be found. And as far as he knows there was nothing left at the scene that could connect back to them.

He’d be worried about blood left behind if he hadn’t known just how long it had taken for even a little to soak all the way through the thick sleeve of Zayn’s hoodie. But even that would’ve been a non-issue if it had been a real concern, what with the blood samples having later gone “missing” anyway. They’ve still got Liam’s face on camera, obviously, but it’s grainy and mostly either a blur or only partially visible since he’d spent most of the time either with his head ducked down or as it just so happens with his head facing a different direction than the camera was pointed. And so far no one’s identified him or he’s sure he would’ve gotten a call from the police by now but it’s still another small thing for him to worry about in the back of his mind.

But as if all that wasn’t enough Liam’s still got his own issues with Danny and Zayn weighing heavy on his mind. He knows it’s crazy to think but some part of him can’t help wondering if there might be something more there he needs to be concerned about. If it’s possible that Danny could maybe have—or at the very least have started developing—feelings for Zayn that go beyond just being friendly.

He knows he shouldn’t but sometimes, in the privacy of his own mind, Liam worries that maybe he’s not enough for Zayn. And he hates himself for thinking it but it’s just that Danny and Zayn have so much more in common, so much more shared life experience than he and Zayn will ever have. Danny understands him and what he went through in a way Liam never will and, as much as he’s glad they’ve found each other again he can’t help but feel like Danny being around has made things more complicated in a way.

He doesn’t want to deny Zayn freedom or friendship, especially when Danny’s one of the only close friends he has outside of Liam’s circle—though that’s changing a bit now with him working—because that wouldn’t be fair. And he knows that Danny has a girlfriend, has even met her a couple times on occasion, and of course he knows that Zayn loves him and would never purposefully hurt him but. Still he worries. Because if things with him and Zayn were to ever go bad for whatever reason Danny would be the most obvious choice not only as far as who he’d go to for comfort, but also for who he might inevitably end up with if not with Liam.

And he’s _trying_ not to let it affect him. He really is. But when Danny comes over to visit and Liam can’t seem to keep a lid on his own passive-aggressive behavior, things come to a bit of a head.

Liam’s washing dishes from the dinner that was supposed to be just for the two of them but Danny had dropped by unannounced, claiming he was just down this way and thought he’d stop by to say hello and then ended up staying for nearly two hours. So by the time Liam’s started on the dishes his patience has already worn thin and pretty much everything Danny says or does has already started to really grate on his nerves. Which is why, despite Liam’s bests attempts to stay relatively quiet all night lest he say something he shouldn’t, when Danny offers to help with the dishes he just snaps.

“No, thanks, I think you’ve done enough _helping_ around here already as it is, and I’d reckon it’s about time for you to leave,” he says tensely, not even bothering to look up from the sink.

“Liam, what the hell?” Zayn says, and when Liam looks past Danny’s shocked face and over to Zayn, Zayn’s brows are furrowed in both surprise and confusion.

“Sorry, just tired,” he says lamely, shaking his head dismissively and turning back to the sink.

Danny takes his leave not long after, for which Liam is thankful as Danny finally seems to clue in to the tension, and Zayn waits patiently until he’s after he’s left to address it.

“Is that all it is really?” he says to Liam, arms folded over his chest as he leans back against the kitchen island.

“Yes. No.” Liam sighs, long and low. He really is tired. That much had been true at least, even if it wasn’t the actual reason for his behavior. “I don’t really wanna talk about it right now, alright? Can we just…go to bed? Table it for later?”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, looking off to the side in what’s hopefully just mild exasperation, but he nods sharply. “Alright, fine. Tabled.”

And that’s that. For now anyway.

Until a few days later when Liam wakes up to a lengthy voicemail from Danny.

It’s early but the voicemail’s from a few hours earlier, practically the middle of the night. Danny works odd hours though, like Zayn, but with less flexibility since, unlike Zayn, he doesn’t have the added advantage of being friends with his boss.

But Zayn’s out for an early weekend shift at work today so he doesn’t have to worry about whatever Danny has to say being overheard as he presses play.

“Hey, Liam, it’s, um…it’s Danny. Sorry that it’s so late, I just, um…I just wanted to kind of get this out now while it’s on my mind and hopefully you’ll…get it in the morning. I just wanted to make sure you know that you have nothing to worry about with me and Zayn, if that’s, um…if that’s what you’d been concerned about. I mean, like, I care about him, obviously, but not…not in that way. More like…like a brotherly way I guess you could say? It’s just…I spent so many years looking out for him, you know? Trying my best to make sure he was okay, or as okay as anyone could be in that hellhole but now that we’re both out and I’ve found him again, and even though he’s good now, it’s still kind of hard to let go of that, you know? That instinct’s probably always gonna be there, and for him there are probably always gonna be certain things he feels a little more comfortable talking about with me first because of the shit we both had to go through, but…that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you and doesn’t also eventually want to share all that stuff with you too. Sorry, I’m rambling.

“Anyway, all that to say I just…don’t ever want you to feel like there’s anything you have to worry about with me and him cause even if in some weird twilight zone turn of events there was ever a time or a point where he felt like anything else besides a little brother to me, it’s pretty plain to see how gone he is for you and you for him, and how good you are for him and I would never want to do anything get in the way of that. I can see how happy you make him, how happy you make _each other_ , and after everything he’s been through, everything you both have been through I guess, you deserve like a billion years of nothing but love and happiness and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that. Also, sorry if this got really cheesy, I may have had a few drinks before I left work. But still. I meant everything I said. You’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about, but if for any reason you still want me to, like, back off or anything, you know, just…just say the word. Okay, um, that’s it. Sorry for talking for like eight hundred hours at nearly three in the morning. Even though you probably won’t get this till way later. Anyway, um, good night. Morning. Um, give me be a call back when you can.”

Fuck. And now Liam feels like shit. Great way to start a morning. But at least that’s that problem mostly resolved now. And he does feel better, knowing for sure that there’s nothing to worry about, even if he had been pretty stupid to worry about it in the first place and even if he _is_ also still feeling guilty for making Danny feel bad. He makes a mental note to call and apologize in a bit. But right now, food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo i’ve noticed since i’ve gotten into this weekly friday update schedule i’ve been getting less comments…not sure if people are just losing interest in the story/verse or if it’s because it’s still the beginning or if friday’s just not a good day to update like maybe i should switch it to mondays or something? or maybe go back to an irregular schedule and just post intermittently? idk is there another day that would work better for you guys or that you would prefer? lemme know…
> 
> as always comments and kudos = LOVE so leave em if you feel up to it! :)


	7. Chapter 7

_Zayn_

Zayn’s on bouncer duty for the night when some rowdy arsehole shows up trying to start trouble, yelling and getting in everyone’s face and just generally being a right twat. Things have gotten way more interesting since the club section of The Craic opened a couple weeks ago though so Zayn is slowly getting accustomed to this being his weekend. Not that he’s complaining. It’s fun to beat up arseholes, especially when he’s got an actual excuse for it.

The guy can’t pay the cover, tries to force his way past, mad they won’t let him in but Zayn pushes him back easily with a hand to his chest. “No money, no entry.”

The man’s clearly drunk already, probably why he’s got no money cause he spent it all on drinks wherever it was he came from last. His breath and skin reek of alcohol and Zayn can see in his eyes that he’s rearing for a fight, possibly even came here looking for one seeing as he should have known he wouldn’t be able to get in without paying the cover.

There’s a line of impatient girls in too-short dresses and skirts for the cold air of late winter wrapping around the block behind the guy and the few in the front glare at the man in contempt for holding up the line.

“Get out of here, ya wanker!” one of the girls yells.

“Yeah, piss off! Stop holding up the fucking line!”

Unfortunately that only seems to spur him on further and he marches right back up to Zayn and gets right in his face with his foul breath and the smell of stale sweat wafting off of him.

“You think you can keep me out? You can’t keep me out! I’ll beat your skinny arse, ya ugly fucker, then what are you gonna do, huh? Huh? Go home and cry to mummy?”

And even though Zayn might kind of secretly enjoy this his patience is still running thin. It’s two in the morning and he’s been here nearly eight hours for set-up and then door duty and this guy is the third person tonight to try this shit. The first ones had been two girls who thought they could flirt their way inside but quickly dropped the act and got disgustingly cruel and racist once they realized it wasn’t gonna work. So yeah. Zayn’s looking forward to handing this guy his arse if it comes to that but he’s also just _really_ not in the mood for this guy’s shit.

“Get out of my face,” he says tersely.

But the man holds his ground, continuing on his little vitriol, saying everything and anything to taunt Zayn and insult him, and whatever other flimsy shit he can come up with in his alcohol-addled brain.

“I said get out of my face,” Zayn repeats, a little more venom in his voice this time.

But again the man just keeps going. On and on and on, spewing nonsense and still demanding to be let in.

Suddenly a guy from near the front of line that Zayn recognizes from last week pipes up, addressing the drunk man. “Oi, I’d listen to him if I were you, mate. Trust me, I’ve seen this guy in action, you don’t wanna piss him off.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s this twig gonna do to me, huh?” He moves back up into Zayn’s face again then, spit flying and hot breath ghosting over Zayn’s cheek. “What’re you gonna do, stab me with your bony elbow? You can’t keep me out, you’re a fucking joke, brov! Can’t even believe they hired _you_ as security, you’re no bigger than my fucking pinky!”

“Get. Out. Of my _face_. I won’t say it again.”

“Yeah, or what? What’re you gonna do, huh?”

He reaches a hand out then towards Zayn’s shoulder as if he means to shove him. But before the guy can even get so much as a finger on him or even another word out Zayn grabs his outstretched arm, spins him, and pulls it behind the man’s back. Twists until he hears a pop and then body slams him into the pavement, not too hard but hard enough. There are a few shrieks and screams from the line of onlookers but Zayn pays them no mind.

“Accchhhggg!” the guy yells from the ground. “Christ, what the _fuck_? You _broke_ _my_ _fucking_ _arm_ , you arsehole!”

“Not broken, just dislocated. I can push it back for you if you like but I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.” Zayn smirks, shrugs.

The man just stares up at him in horror, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he scrambles to his feet, cradling his arm, and then looks Zayn up and down critically, starting to back away. “Don’t you fucking touch me! Stay away from me, you freak. _Christ_ , you’re a fucking psycho!”

He spits at the ground in front of them to punctuate his point and then he’s rushing off, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder back at Zayn as he goes.

“I did warn you, mate!” the guy from the line calls after him but the other man ignores him, just keeps on moving up the block until he’s rounding the corner and out of sight.

*

A little later, when Zayn’s shift is basically over, he comes out around the side of the building to dump overflowing bags of rubbish into the dumpsters while Val’s upstairs lining the bins with new ones, Al taking over at the door for the next shift. Right away though he spots a guy leaning against the brick wall smoking like he’s trying to be casual but his posture goes a bit too rigid when he spots Zayn.

“Alright, mate?” he says to Zayn, blowing out a puff of smoke. But his hand—the one on the opposite side of Zayn’s line of sight, not occupied by the cigarette—is already up by his ear like he’s just flicked on his comms as he speaks. His voice clearly alerting whoever’s on the other end as to what’s happening.

Zayn grunts in agreement, continuing on with dumping the rest of the rubbish bags, pretending to make off like he hasn’t noticed what he has.

“Nice night, ey?” the guy says jutting his chin up at the sky.

Zayn hums his agreement again, taking his time, waiting for the guy to make his move.

“Yeah,” the guy continues, “nice night for a power d—”

Zayn’s on him before he can get the rest of the phrase out. Had known it was coming before long, just wasn’t sure how long the man was planning to draw this all out. Zayn pounces on him, the man’s eyes going wide for a moment before Zayn’s snapping his neck with a swift crack.

He drags the body around back to the little employee car park behind the building accessed by an alley further back, to where he knows they’ll have been waiting.

Sure enough there’s an idle black van sitting in the alley that takes off at a swerve through the car park entrance and around the sparse rows of cars as soon as they see him. The other man hadn’t had a gun on him, likely had just been a scout trying his best to remain a little more inconspicuous this time after their massive fuck-up last time. Probably went in figuring he’d be able to get Zayn easily subdued with the code words so that all the rest of his team would have to do is swoop in and grab him without being seen. He’s got a small pocket knife tucked into the waistband of his belt though, standard fare for Handlers and apparently whatever these guys are too, and that’s good enough for Zayn.

He grabs it, keeping it at the ready as he waits for the van’s double doors to open and then flicks it at the first person to come filing out. It lands squarely in the left side of the man’s chest with a soft thud and as he falls to the ground with a gasp, eyes glassy and unblinking, Zayn vaults forward and kicks at the woman jumping out behind him, knocking her backwards into the others starting to file out behind her. They all go stumbling at the force of it and Zayn uses the distraction to grab her gun out of her hands and headbutt her with it as hard as he can. Can hear the harsh sound of her skull cracking and splintering under his hand before she too falls to the ground with dead eyes, a pool of blood flooding out from the side of her head like a lopsided halo. The others are easy now that he’s got a gun and he fires off a volley of rounds that has almost all of them dropping to the ground like flies. Knocks the gun out of the hands of another man that tries to come at him from the side as if he thinks that’ll surprise Zayn enough to throw him off.

It’s almost comical the way the man comes at him, bounding around from the front of the truck—probably the driver—and running at him, gun raised like a scene out of some cheesy old war movie. At the last second, just when he seems to think he’s close enough to ram into Zayn while preparing to fire off a shot, finger just starting to squeeze at the trigger, he lets out a loud guttural yell. Which Zayn cuts off with a sharp hand chop to his throat, knocking the gun easily out of the man’s grip with his other hand. The man lets out a short, cut off choking sound, falls back to the ground on him bum harshly, trying desperately and painfully to gasp for air through a broken trachea, eyes wide and red, involuntarily streaming with tears.

Zayn rolls his eyes, electing to just put him out of his misery. Grabs the man’s abandoned gun from off the ground down by his feet and fires off one quick precise shot to the center of his head at the same that he hears the soft scrape of a boot against grainy asphalt. It had come from the other side of the truck and Zayn waits patiently for whoever it is to just step out and make their move.

Sure enough a few moments another man steps out—this must’ve been the one in the front passenger seat, Zayn surmises—and aims his gun at Zayn, eyes narrowed and face determined. But Zayn’s quicker and before the other man can even start to pull the trigger he’s falling down to the ground with matching holes in his chest and the center of his forehead.

Zayn drops the gun, listens for any sounds of faint heartbeats and hears none but still makes the rounds of checking their pulses just to be sure. He looks around briefly after he’s done, surveying the scene. There’s a few thin smatterings of blood across the backs of Kevin and Niall’s cars near where some of the other bodies landed and Zayn curses, low and muttered under his breath. Tugs the shirt off the scout’s now limp and lifeless body, not wanting to dirty up his own clothes, and uses it to wipe the blood away from the boots of the cars. Gives another brief glance around, checking to make sure there’s nothing else major left he needs to clean up before he drops the bloodied shirt to the ground.

Sauntering back around to the side of the building he ducks inside quickly and discreetly to the loo, washing his hands and face of the small smudges of blood that managed to get on him, mostly from checking pulses. He’s got one tiny splatter on his jaw, one on his cheek, and a couple on the back of his hand from the woman he headbutted with the gun. A few more smudges on his fingers from necks half-drenched in a pool of their own blood. But luckily nothing on his clothes and he ducks back out and through the crowd of people hanging around the lower pub area quickly. Shuffles along through the throngs of bodies swaying drunkenly to the pounding bass of the music echoing down from upstairs, keeping his head low as he eases his way back out the side door. Doesn’t really need to deal with anyone spotting him and asking questions about why he’s still here even if it has technically only been a few minutes since his shift ended. It’s not that it would be unusual for him to linger, seeing as he does do that on occasion from time to time. But he really doesn’t want to have to lie or make up dumb excuses if anyone were to spot him and decide to ask or make a joke about him still being here, so for now the less questions the better.

*

They try again two more times before the month is out. And another three the month after that, and then two more the following month, until they’re well into May and still losing every single member of every single team they send after him. It’s getting to be embarrassing honestly how easy it is to take them all out, and with their own weapons no less because Zayn still hasn’t gotten any of his own. Had thought about it, maybe buying himself a set of knives just because, or holding onto one of their guns for future use. But had ultimately decided against it figuring there was really no point when it was all too easy to just take theirs every time.

And he never thought he’d get to the point of saying this but honestly he’s bored. This whole game of back and forth is starting to get old and tired and there’s no challenge, not really. They’re always way too easy to spot and too easy to disarm or catch by surprise and he’s starting to feel like he’s just going through the motions. Repeating the same old movements of a well-choreographed dance because they always use pretty much the same shitty techniques. Act like they think they’re doing something revolutionary or unconventional or spontaneous, like they think they’ve finally got the jump on him, but he’s seen it all before at this point. Every move in their arsenal, every cheap trick they use to play at being casual and unsuspicious, every sneak attack attempt that he can hear coming a mile away, and it’s almost like they’re just rolling them off an assembly line now.

“They come after you today?” Liam calls automatically from the bedroom the second Zayn’s in the door, like has become almost their usual routine at this point when Zayn comes home after they’ve both called out a brief greeting.

“They tried.” Zayn smirks coming around to the bedroom doorway and then flopping down on the bed beside him. “I beat their arses though.”

And that’s about usually how the whole conversation goes because lately it’s gotten to the point where he takes them all out with almost no effort at all. There’s not even the satisfaction of impressing a crowd of onlookers like there would be if they were just random some arseholes at the club. It’s just him in dark alleys or car parks taking them all out in relative silence and then walking away to leave the recovery teams to clean up the mess. There’s no rush of adrenaline like there was those few first times and he’s starting to wonder when they’ll finally get to the point where they just give up. Because they have to realize by now that the amount of people they’re losing and all the resources they’re expending just trying to get him back only to keep failing isn’t worth it in the long run. They’re losing more capital and manpower continuing on in their desperate plight to keep coming after him than they would just putting more money into training the people they already have.

And he has no idea whether that still includes operatives or not. Whether they’ve changed the whole layout of the program completely, terminated all their perfect little soldiers, and moved onto newer experiments, or if they’re still running the same old games.

For all he knows they just want him back so they can study him or find some to way to use him for whatever new and fucked up thing they’ve cooked up next. Or maybe they just want him back to tout him out along with any other operatives they might still have in their little enclave to prove why the program’s worth salvaging. Who knows. But whatever the case it’s abundantly clear that things aren’t what they used to be and yet they’re still so desperate to get him back for some reason. He doesn’t understand it, but for his sake and for Liam’s he hopes he never has to. Sends a silent prayer up to whoever might be listening that if there _are_ any other operatives still left with them they find some way out, or at least some kind of solace. Hopes that whoever it is that might be listening isn’t the same cosmic being with the fucked up sense of humor that landed them all here in this messed up situation in the first place.

*

Zayn’s sat at his usual booth with Val and Alana—one of the other security workers who Zayn’s pretty sure Val fancies—on a quiet Monday while Niall drones on to Lenny, another one of the regulars at the counter, about why he decided to tack on the addition of a club. Zayn’s pretty sure the guy’s only asking out of annoyance at having to leave early on Fridays and Saturdays to clear out before the crowd of rowdy teens and twenty-somethings show up more so than him actually wanting to know anything about Niall’s business plan. But Niall chirps up happily anyway, going into a whole speech about his goals and plans.

“Well, I always wanted to open me own pub. But this way I figure I get the best of both worlds, you know? Like life moves so fast and you’ve got to take advantage of opportunities when you can and so when me girlfriend moved in and this place went up for sale right after, it felt like everything was kind of starting to come together and I thought why not now? I mean I’d already been saving up for so long and, even though I liked the other place I was working at, I realized I already had more than enough saved to buy this place _and_ get started on construction to turn it around. Plus clubs make a shit ton more money than pubs and this way I’ll be raking in money for both and have way more fun than I would’ve with just a pub. I mean, who doesn’t like good music and dancing after they’ve had a nice little chill with the lads at a pub, right? But here, instead of having a few drinks and then leaving, trying to find a good club to go to hang about and burn off all your drinks, you’ve already got it all in one. Come here early, get your drinks in and have a laugh with your mates and then head on upstairs to where the party is. Come back down at the end of the night for some good food—one of Kevin’s crack burgers or somethin’—and then go home, money well spent and night well spent and you didn’t even have to go walkin’ about wandering the streets in the middle of the night looking for good drinks and good food and a good place to party your arse off…”

And on and on and on while Lenny half starts to doze off.

“Poor guy,” Alana mutters with a sympathetic shake of her head at Lenny.

“How long do you think it’ll be before Niall inevitably goes into another one of his toasts?” Val says with a wry smile.

“Oh God, not _another_ one,” Alana groans and Zayn laughs into his half-empty cup of water as he goes to take a sip.

Niall’s been making almost weekly toasts ever since they opened up the club section, which was already an increase from the monthly ones he’d started making before then when it was still just the pub. Zayn knows he’s just really happy that everything’s working out how he’d planned and that they’ve been lucky enough not to have had any major problems yet. But even _he’s_ started to get a little exhausted with it to be honest.

Predictably, and right on schedule too, about five full minutes into his weekly monologue, Niall starts in on the toast.

“A toast to all of you! To loyal patrons and employees and to continued success! Long live The Craic!” he bellows proudly from behind the counter, raised glass filled to the brim with a full pint.

“Long live The Craic,” Zayn and everyone else sat around or milling about the pub mumbles half-heartedly, glasses only barely raised in salute, all too used to this by now and lacking the energy to even muster a pale imitation of any of Niall’s same excitement.

That’s about the most eventful thing that happens during his whole shift besides Sal’s usual tirade about his ex-wife and his shitty pension so when it’s time for him to clock out Zayn gets up from the booth that he hadn’t even had to budge from once and flashes a cheeky wink to Val as he goes. She rolls her eyes at him but doesn’t say anything, shooting a quick nervous glance to Alana to see if she’d noticed their little exchange. But Alana’s too engrossed now in a game on her phone to be paying either of them any mind.

Or at least she’s pretending to be. Zayn’s pretty sure she’s actually just trying to keep herself from staring at Val when Val’s not looking like she had been doing earlier when Zayn and Val had been enthralled in a chip war across the table.

Zayn smiles to himself as he calls a quick goodbye to them both over his shoulder, darting to the back room to clock out, and say goodbye to Niall who’s gone back to his office to sort through some paperwork for something or other. Niall smiles brightly up at him once he’s found whatever he was looking for and waves, telling Zayn to say hello to Liam for him.

“Sure thing!” Zayn calls, passing back by the booth on his way out and laughing to himself at Val and Alana who are now _both_ pretending to be engrossed in their phones while sneaking furtive glances at each other.

The weather outside is nice, only partly sunny and a little breezy but not enough to be uncomfortable. It’s late spring now and so still a bit chilly, but warm enough that Zayn’s started wearing lighter hoodies, “breaking out his summer hoodie collection,” as Louis jokingly refers to it, and he relishes in the light breeze and warm fresh air.

Until he sees a spot of black in his periphery, that is, and sighs exasperatedly. It’s one of _those_ days then.

Zayn doesn’t even bother going a weird route to throw them off this time. Just keeps heading to the same bus stop he usually does on his way home at this time of day, before it changes to the slightly different route and the different stops it goes through later in the night. Except that instead of stopping and waiting at the actual stop he keeps going, passing right by it and heading further up the block to the recently condemned building on the corner. He can hear them parking down by the other corner he just came from as he turns and ducks through the tape over the open doorway. Can hear them fumbling trying to shut the doors as quietly as they can as a few of them follow him towards the building while the others head around the corner the opposite way. Probably thinking to catch him by surprise by coming from the other direction, or just to come separately from the others to make him think there’s not as many of them as there are only to come back round to join the others later, but either way being way too obvious about it.

He slows his steps as hears them shuffling through the tape of the doorway behind him, making sure they’re close enough behind that they can see where he’s heading. Hears them notify the other half of their team on their comms where they’re headed. And then he leads them deeper inside and down the stairs to the dusty concrete basement, waits.

When the first five have all made it down the stairs and crowd around him, guns at the ready, he just snorts at how predictable they are before he spins in a swift circle, leg out, and kicks the guns out of all their hands in one fell swoop. Grabs two of the guns while they’re still mid-air and shoves the rest away with a foot somewhere behind him after they clatter to the ground. Within the next second before any of them can even make a single move, much less grasp what’s just happened, their lifeless bodies are all falling to the floor one after the other just as the other five come bounding down the stairs, guns blazing.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Really? You couldn’t even be arsed enough to come through the side door where at least I wouldn’t have seen you coming?”

The first guy in the line, near the bottom of the steps, makes up his face in confusion and a little bit of surprise like he hadn’t even expected Zayn to be able to talk. But then he seems to catch himself and quickly schools his features back into something more neutral as he starts to make a move to pull the trigger.

Zayn shoots him before he can. Follows the line all the way up the steps with one precise shot after another until they’re all sprawled across the stairs with identical holes in their heads, blood dripping down the steps over each other.

He leaves the guns in the middle of the pile of bodies laid out in an almost neat circle in the center of the floor and goes out the same side door they should’ve taken if they were at all smart. Bounds up the steps back to the main level of the street and rounds the corner, sauntering down to the bus stop, just in time for the bus, which is halting to a stop right as he gets there.

*

Zayn’s on his way home late at night from another double shift on door duty after what had been an especially busy Saturday with it being the first truly warm night of summer when he makes them again. He can hear the now familiar rumble of the van’s engine about a block behind as they follow him, the same make and model of what seems to be the new standard black mission vans they’ve been using. Ducks down into an abandoned and crumbling underground car park at a half-finished construction site to draw them away from any people that might be wandering about through the alleys. It is after all a prime party-going night near a block chock full of a string of clubs and pubs a few streets down from Niall’s and he doesn’t have the advantage this time of drawing them back to a relatively secluded familiar area like he would back at The Craic with the car park there.

They follow him down, clearly giving up on pretenses and not even trying to be discreet about it any longer because they must have realized by now what he’s doing, leading them here. He waits patiently for them to cruise down the spiral concrete ramp, bright headlights illuminating the dark lot, and then pull into the middle of the wide open space where he’s already waiting. Looks on in confusion as they suddenly make a u-turn instead of stopping then and there and then screech to a halt a few meters back up from where they previously were. For a moment there’s nothing but silence as they just sit there, van idle, engine thrumming softly. But then the doors bang open and someone—or rather some _thing_ —jumps out.

 _What. The. Fuck_. Zayn thinks because this thing certainly _looks_ a hell of a lot like Handler A, or the person he used to know as Handler A, but half his face, half his _body_ , is incased in metal instead of skin. Where there should be a heartbeat there’s just a mechanical sounding tic mimicking the steady beat of one and a low whirring underneath that, that seems to be coming from all over him, no distinct spot within him from which to pinpoint it. His entire right arm, and possibly his left leg too based on the sound like the clink of metal on concrete that had echoed out when he jumped down, both seem to be entirely mechanical. Metal fingers flexing with soft clicks as his eyes land evenly on Zayn’s with not even a flicker of recognition. The metal sheet over the left half of his face in place of skin goes from his temple and the back portion of his left cheek and jaw all the way back to the back of his head covering essentially about a third of his skull so that there’s no left ear or hair covering the left side of his head. Just the long, sleek sheen of silver over half of his scalp and a small hole in the plate of metal where his ear should be. A jagged line of puckered skin goes juts out from his temple and curves down, past the corner of his left eye and all the way down his cheek and jaw along where the metal meets the rest of his face and Zayn’s heart beats erratically in his chest as the thing starts to clomp toward him.

Zayn starts to back away but Handler A—the _thing_ that used to be Handler A—lets out a low, guttural growl, animalistic, and then speeds up, suddenly bounding toward him and it’s fucking _fast_. Nearly as fast as Zayn and he almost doesn’t manage to dart out of the way in time when it reaches out a sharp metal claw to swipe at him. Gets one good shallow scrape at his neck with one of its sharp metal fingers as Zayn scrambles away.

Zayn whips back around toward it, chest heaving, as he prepares himself for an all-out battle, ready this time when the thing comes charging at him again. He leads it back to a column, dodging out of the way of its outstretched metal hand at the last moment and watches as the blow from its fist takes out a large chunk of the concrete, loose rubble falling in clumps to the ground below.

Okay. So about as strong as him too. Good thing he’d had the quick wit to think of the test before he wound up with a large piece of his throat missing. But it’s fine. He can do this. He’d wanted a real fight and now he has one—which means clearly it was the fucked up cosmic being listening, then—he just has to outsmart it. And from the looks of things it seems to rely more on brute strength and speed than actual skill or tactic. Leaves Zayn wondering whether there’s even any kind of activity going on in that metal-encased brain of theirs. Which if there’s not only makes it that much easier for him to outsmart it and make it out of even this unexpected turn of events.

The thing growls again, seeming to get frustrated at Zayn’s narrow evasion attempts but Zayn just beckons it towards him again.

“Come on, big guy,” he says lowly, eyes never leaving its scarred up face, as he backs up slow and steady at first and then quick when it starts to bound after him again. He leads it back to another column and this time it swipes out with both arms as if it means to grab him and crush him between its hands. But ducking out of its path at the last minute has it grabbing at the column again and thankfully only one side loses a chunk of rubble in the rough grasp of its metal fingers. The flesh and bone hand just grasps at it ineffectively, leaving behind a few weak scratches.

That’s good. Means it’s really only the metal parts of it that hold all the power which tells Zayn it’s got weak spots, lots of them. If he aims a few blows for its right side the next time he dodges it he can weaken it.

Zayn darts back around a few feet behind it, whistles quick to get its attention. “Come on, here boy,” he says, watching it whip around in confusion and then backing himself away steadily as it growls again, clomping quickly toward him.

Zayn lets his feet carry him back and back and then in a circle, round and round and round in a wide arc in the middle of the car park, speeding up as he goes, the thing speeding after him. After a while, when it seems like it’s starting to get a little dizzy and disoriented, Zayn leaps off to the side in a sudden flash of movement, watching it sway a bit in confusion for the briefest of moments before its head snaps back toward him. And right when he sees it about to turn and swipe out again he lands a sharp kick to its ribs and it howls out in pain.

Angry now, it swipes out toward him again in a frenzy and he leaps easily to the side again and aims another kick and two quick follow-up punches to the same side. It lets out another anguished sound and an even more guttural growl as it spins to swipe at him again, and he just keeps going. Moving around in a circle, just barely dodging out of the way of its sharp metal claws as it continues to follow and lunge hastily after him. It manages to get in a few more shallow swipes at him, mostly just rips at his clothes and a couple minor scratches. But _he_ manages to get in quite a few quick but hard blows to its weaker side when he can too, slowing it down, weakening it, even further.

Dizzy, not only probably still from before but also now from the added strain of constantly spinning to keep up with Zayn, it eventually starts to sway a little again as it tries in vain to get a hit in. Letting out hurt but angry sounding grunts as it goes, that slowly turn to just hurt and confused.

Zayn actually feels a bit bad when it finally falls to the ground from a particularly hard and nasty blow to its already now mostly broken ribs and he rips the metal arm out of its socket to the sound of an animalistic but especially pitiful sounding groan that eventually drifts off into a soft whimper. But in all fairness the thing had also been trying to kill him and very nearly took out a chunk of _him_ with that same metal arm early on in the battle so.

He drops the disembodied metal arm to the ground with a loud clatter and the thing whimpers as a pool of blood and something else a dark green color, almost black, steadily gushes from the open socket onto the concrete around it. It whimpers weakly for a few more moments before finally it loses consciousness, eyes drifting closed and body going limp against the ground, though Zayn can still hear the faint mechanical thump of the thing in its chest where its heart should be.

There’s the sudden sound of an engine backfiring and then the van that had still been sitting there idle all that time at the edge of the lot is taking off with a loud squeal as it turns sharply up the ramp and back out aboveground into the busy city streets.

Zayn spares one last sympathetic glance for the thing still bleeding out on the ground below him and then he’s walking away, following the path up the ramp out into the open night air.

*

“What the hell _was_ it?” Liam says in a high, worried tone from the bathroom doorway when Zayn tells him about what happened. Zayn shrugs as he pats at the scratch on his neck with a damp flannel in the bathroom mirror, wiping away the little bit of blood that had started to gather there from the shallow cut.

“Dunno. Some sort of, like, creepy-android-monster version of Handler A.” He shudders a bit at the disturbing memory. The jagged line of skin connecting flesh with metal, the sheen of silver where hair and an ear should have been. The sight of wires along with nerves and bone and muscle in the open cavern of its shoulder and the blackish-green substance that had eked its way out along with the blood. The animalistic noises it had made and mechanical sounds of its innards moving and working and whirring. The way it barely even seemed to have any awareness or understanding of anything outside of what was purely instinctual. He tells Liam all of this as he pats himself dry and shrugs out of his sweaty clothes and Liam looks even more stricken with each word.

“ _Christ_ ,” he mutters with a mix of a look of disgust and pity. “What the fuck are they _doing_ over there?”

“No clue, but whatever it is it’s clearly crossed into a whole new level of sick and twisted. I just hope they don’t send anymore of those things after me. I don’t know if I’d be able to stomach it.”

He wonders for a moment if they might even try to send the same one back out, if it’s even still alive or if they’ve got more. A whole arsenal full of their newest sick pet project. As unfortunate as it is, he supposes now, regardless of if it’s alive or dead, it’s just another thing for the recovery team to deal with.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Liam says coming up to wrap arms around Zayn from behind now that he’s dressed again in clean sleep clothes, pressing his nose into the juncture between Zayn’s shoulder and neck, on the opposite side of where the cut is.

Zayn hums, sagging into him gratefully. It’s been a long day and an even unexpectedly longer night, but he’s just glad he gets to come home to this.

“Come sleep,” Liam says into his ear. “Even badass assassin boyfriends need sleep.”

Zayn laughs but follows willingly as Liam tugs him back into the bedroom, pulling the covers over them and settling in close. And despite the horrifying events of the night Zayn’s asleep in minutes, feeling overwhelmingly warm and loved and safe tucked into Liam’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was basically the embodiment of fire starter by demi lovato lol, feel like a lot of the songs from the second half of the playlist still apply to this fic too
> 
> also, random, but still catching myself accidentally typing twelve instead of zayn every so often even though it’s been like two months now since he officially stopped being twelve smh change is hard lol
> 
> **([link to the bottom liam fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13900728) as promised, if anyone's interested)**


	8. Chapter 8

_Program Server_

**15 March 2018, 0904 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Requesting status update on operative retrieval mission.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**16 March 2018, 1355 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Third retrieval mission unsuccessful. Operative unable to be subdued or apprehended. Twelve agents down. Plans for follow-up mission commenced. Fourth retrieval attempt set for 24 March 2018, time to be determined.

– TAC Team Agent A

**16 April 2018, 0822 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Requesting status update on operative retrieval mission.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**16 April 2018, 0929 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Fourth, fifth, and sixth retrieval missions unsuccessful. Total of thirty agents down in last three missions. Plans for follow-up mission commenced. Seventh retrieval attempt set for 18 April 2018, time to be determined.

– TAC Team Agent A

**21 May 2018, 0731 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Requesting status update on operative retrieval mission.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**22 May 2018, 1624 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Operative Retrieval

Message: Eighth, ninth, and tenth retrieval missions unsuccessful. Total of twenty-four agents down in last three missions. Plans for follow-up mission commenced. Deploy of experimental operative to be employed next attempt. Experimental Operative has been instructed not to terminate, but will be released with express allowances to wound rogue operative, critically if necessary, in order to complete retrieval mission. Mission set for 25 May 2018, time to be determined.

– TAC Team Agent A

**28 May 2018, 1006 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Operative Retrieval; Experimental Operative Performance

Message: Requesting status update on operative retrieval mission in addition to full report on experimental operative’s performance.

– Director of Iteration Three

 

**28 May 2018, 1231 hours**

From: Server 5, Relocation Base C

To: Server 1, Relocation Base A

Re: Operative Retrieval; Experimental Operative Performance

Message: Mission unsuccessful. Experimental operative critically injured, unfit for battle for foreseeable future. Full report enclosed on performance, injuries sustained, and estimated recovery timeline. Plans for follow-up mission underway. Correspondence will be extended with details of plans for next mission at later date.

– TAC Team Agent A

**28 May 2018, 1515 hours**

From: Server 1, Relocation Base A

To: Server 5, Relocation Base C

Re: Operative Retrieval Mission Progress

Message: As per a compilation of your own reports, continued operative retrieval attempts over the last four months have lead to the termination of a total of seventy-six agents and critical injury of the program’s first experimental operative. Consequently, it has been decided that you and the teams under your employ will be allowed provisions for one final attempt. Please plan wisely. On the condition that the next and final attempt is also unsuccessful any further plans for the retrieval of the rogue operative in question are to be halted for the interim until program resources can be replenished in such a manner that more retrieval attempts are able to be extended once more.

– Director of Iteration Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i realized that i’m actually so far ahead in my writing schedule for this fic (i’m so many chapters ahead y’all it’s actually ridiculous and i’m so insanely proud of myself lmao) that i can actually start posting two updates a week and still be ahead enough to stay on a consistent schedule with posting so yeah updates will be coming twice weekly now on mondays and fridays yayyyyy!
> 
> (we'll see how long i can keep it up though lmao)
> 
> as always Comments and Kudos = LOVE :) so share the love if you feel up to it!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is basically like 98% porn just fyi 
> 
> **[see bottom for tags if you have any sex-related triggers, or are having a demi/ace moment and aren't feeling up to anything sex-related rn, or whatever really that may necessitate you to skip this chapter]**

_Liam_

Lately everything with Zayn’s turned into a game of distraction. A fight to see who can sidetrack the other first. Mostly involving sex. Because it’s one of the only things that gets both of their minds off of everything else that’s going on, and Liam’s not complaining because it helps even if it is only temporary.

But Liam’s been falling off the ball a bit ever since things got crazy hectic again with work. Not holding up his end of the challenge. Which is why it takes Zayn to pick up the slack.

“Hi,” Zayn says with a mischievous smile as he crawls up the bed to Liam on a rare afternoon back from a shift when he hasn’t been tailed for once.

“Hi,” Liam says with an equally cheeky smile.

“Distract me?” Zayn says, worming his way into the space between Liam’s arm and the side of his chest.

“Course,” Liam replies as he shuts his laptop and shoves it onto the nightstand a little haphazardly.

Zayn always gets a bit antsy in between the stretches of time with no tail. He hates the waiting, knowing they’re coming but not knowing exactly when, even if he has a pretty good idea of their timeline. He knows he can beat them, has done on a number of occasions, easily too as he tells it, but the waiting is the worst.

Liam wraps his arms around Zayn’s middle, leans in for a kiss, deep and slow, that leaves them both a little breathless.

“How do you want it?” he whispers against Zayn’s lips.

Zayn hums, shucks both their clothes in lightning speed, and then flips onto his belly, resting his head on his folded hands and peering over at Liam with big dark eyes.

Liam huffs a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to Zayn’s temple as he moves to straddle the back of Zayn’s thighs, grabbing for the lube as he goes.

Zayn sighs when Liam first presses his fingers in, like he’s been needing it, body going pliant underneath Liam as he relaxes into the touch. Liam goes slow like he knows Zayn hates, aims his strokes right where he knows Zayn’ll feel it the most and drags his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm until Zayn’s a whimpering mess underneath him. Zayn still gets a little nervous sometimes about making too much noise but when he does let go Liam loves it because it drives him absolutely crazy in the best way. Like right now and he just wants to make Zayn make more noises like that, make him forget what it is to be nervous or anxious about it at all. And he’s pretty sure so far he’s succeeding.

Zayn whines and moans desperately, grinds his hips down into the bed but for once doesn’t try to force Liam to speed up like he usually does. Doesn’t try to push himself back to force Liam’s fingers inside him deeper or faster like he normally would. Not yet anyway. Just whimpers and moans into the sheets and lets Liam fingers fuck into him slick and slow with no resistance or fight until he’s nice and open.

“You ready, babe?” Liam says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the bottom of Zayn’s spine, right over a thick jagged scar, fingers still moving steadily inside him.

Zayn just whimpers again weakly, face pressed into the sheets, lets out an intelligible sound that sounds vaguely like please with some letters missing. Liam smiles, runs gentle fingers over Zayn’s side with the hand that isn’t covered in lube and then uses the hand that is to slick himself up. Presses inside slow, so slow.

Grunts out a mix between a laugh and a groan when Zayn inevitably shoves his hips back impatiently, forcing Liam the rest of the way inside in one quick stroke. Liam gives him a light smack to his hip.

“Still,” he barks but he’s smiling when he says it and he’s pretty sure Zayn can hear the smile in his voice. He listens though, whines a little petulantly, but goes still all the same and Liam takes a hold of his hips and works up an even slower rhythm just to torture him. A punishment, so to speak. Pushes all the way inside and then pauses, waits until Zayn’s nearly squirming with it, barely resisting the urge to _make_ Liam move, and then pulls all the way out, watching Zayn clench around nothing and grind desperately into the sheets. Then does it all over again, and again, and again, and again.

He’s teasing himself too but, unlike Zayn, Liam has patience. Zayn may have crazy ridiculous super soldier stamina going for him where Liam doesn’t. But what Liam lacks in the stamina department he more than makes up for in the patience department and over these last few months he’s learned how to use it to his advantage. While also maybe discovering some hidden kinks he didn’t know he had.

It’s funny when he thinks about it now how not so long ago he’d balked at the very idea of even giving Zayn orders, back when he’d first came, when he was still more operative than himself. And now here Liam is getting turned on by it, _getting off_ on it.

When he finally stops teasing and settles himself fully back inside, working up to a faster rhythm Zayn’s too far gone to keep himself in check anymore. Pushes up onto his spread knees just a little and fucks back onto Liam fast as a jackrabbit, hips practically a blur as that insane speed kicks in.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Liam gasps, choking out a few stuttered breaths and shutting his eyes tight, letting Zayn work back onto him while he tries desperately not to come apart too soon.

Liam hasn’t told him this but he loves when Zayn get like this too, loves seeing him lose control even if it is kind of overwhelming sometimes. It’s part of the reason he does this, teases Zayn like this, knows that sometimes—times like _this_ —if he takes it far enough Zayn gets a little wild with it, frantic and needy and desperate, and it’s possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Makes him a little crazy too. Or a lot.

But Zayn also doesn’t have a lot of leverage in this position where it’s more of an effort than it’s worth to keep that kind of thing up compared to how it would be in another. It’s why Liam mostly only ever teases him like this when Zayn’s underneath him, or when they switch things around and Zayn tops, because as much he loves having Zayn ride him he’s pretty sure he would literally die of spontaneous combustion if Zayn ever got this wild on top of him like that. It’s already a lot to handle just like this, or with him inside Liam. Anything more would just be way too much. Better to just let Zayn tire himself out while Liam focuses all his might on trying to keep himself from coming.

True to form after a little while Zayn starts to lose momentum, sags bag down into the bed and Liam takes over again, grinds into him hard and fast, the slick sounds of skin slapping against skin ringing out around them while Zayn moans high and desperate into the sheets, rolling his hips back weakly against Liam’s to meet his harsh thrusts. And then Zayn’s shoulders are going taught, muscles clenching as he lets out a weak, raspy whimper and shakes apart beneath Liam and Liam can’t hold himself back anymore. Comes so hard and so intense it almost hurts with the force of it, cock throbbing to the beat of his own pulse deep inside Zayn as he curls over him.

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t breath for a whole minute, blinks harshly, gasping in air like a beached fish once he finally stops coming. Zayn’s still shaking a little underneath him and he jerks a bit and lets out a harsh little shiver when Liam lays a hand low on his back, letting out a wrecked and pitiful little moan.

“Good?” Liam breaths, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Zayn’s shoulder that has him shivering again, mumbling something in another language, possibly Urdu, but he’s not sure since he can’t quite make it out with Zayn’s face still half in the sheets. He’s taking it as a yes though.

Later, when both of them can breath normally again and Zayn actually remembers what language he’s speaking, the two of them curled up together away from the wet part of the sheets, Zayn mumbles against his chest tiredly, “Best. Distraction. Ever.”

*

Zayn gets him back a few days later when Liam’s sat on the couch staring at the telly but not really watching it as they play the petrol station security camera footage for the thousandth time. The barest corner of Zayn’s jaw is visible in the footage, peaking out from the edge of his hoodie as he mouths for Liam to get everyone out, no sound available for the video thank God, or that would’ve created a whole other host of problems like voice recognition and what not. But still the sight of the video again is enough to have that mild panic rearing up in the back of his mind again. The thought that someone might recognize him, or recognize Liam and connect the dots.

And it doesn’t matter how many times he sees the video, how used to seeing it he gets, the slight panic, the slight fear in the back of his mind never quite goes away. Because the longer they go on showing it the higher the chance of more people seeing it, people who might recognize them, and all it would take would be one call. One call and Zayn could be behind bars, locked away in some secure military prison or super max. Or worse, carted right back to the program and made into a robot all over again, a slave to someone else’s will.

But no sooner has he thought it than Zayn is there in front of him, back from a late night shift with a devilish smirk on his face as he drops to his knees in front of Liam.

“Quit thinking,” he says, going for Liam’s joggers lightning fast, pulling the waist band down to his thighs with a sharp tug that nearly has them ripping because he hadn’t given Liam a chance to lift up a little and let him pull them down like he should’ve.

He’s clearly not sparing any of that a second thought though because barely even a moment later he’s got his whole mouth on Liam’s dick, swallowing him down in one go and Liam bucks his hips from the shock of it.

“Shit,” he gasps. “Zayn…” He doesn’t even know what he’d been meant to say, all coherent thought flying out of his brain at the way Zayn’s practically sucking the life out of him through his dick, cheeks hallowed, mouth hot and tight around Liam as he bobs up and down.

Liam twines his fingers in Zayn’s hair, mostly out of blind desperation but also because he knows Zayn likes it. Has a bit of a thing for Liam playing with his hair that’s kind of a kink but also not just entirely sexual. Liam secretly wonders if the non-sexual part has anything to do with his hair being a reminder of his freedom, and it being long enough for Liam to play with a reminder in and of itself of that freedom too. Wonders if part of that maybe extends to the sexual part too, the thrill of it. But now isn’t really the time to puzzle that out seeing as he can’t exactly think very clearly when a large part of his blood supply that should be going to his head is now going to his _other_ head.

Zayn’s looking up at him through his lashes now like he’s waiting which is making it increasingly harder for Liam to keep himself from desperately thrusting his hips into the tight wet heat of his mouth as Zayn moves, keeping up his steady rhythm. And Liam knows that Zayn can take it, that Zayn’s waiting for _him_ to let go, but he still always feels a bit hesitant with this for reasons he can’t quite explain. It’s different than getting rough with full-on sex, feels more aggressive because this is his _face_ , his _mouth_. It’s not exactly as sturdy as…other things. And even though Zayn is always saying how nothing Liam could do would hurt him, it still always leaves him feeling a bit wary.

Zayn’s clearly not having any of Liam’s second-guessing tonight though because on his next slide down he sucks his fingers into his mouth alongside Liam’s dick and then on the drag back up edges them down, down. And then he’s pressing right inside until he’s up to the second knuckle. Liam lets out a surprised little grunt, hips jerking up of their own accord as Zayn takes him deep again, right to the back of his throat, before he’s swallowing around him and then Liam can’t _stop_ his hips from jerking up as Zayn keeps at it. Over and over and over. One finger pushing in, then two, then suck and swallow and push in and pull out, and again and again, and Liam doesn’t even feel it coming when he suddenly comes without warning.

Zayn though doesn’t even blink, just swallows it all down, suckling at Liam till he’s completely spent and oversensitive and then pulls off, wiping at his mouth with the same cheeky smirk he walked in here with.

And after Liam’s had a chance to catch his breath again, he’s laying Zayn back across the length of the couch to return the favor.

*

Liam’s trying to do a better job of holding up his end of things. Which is why just a few days later he’s got Zayn laid out on the bed underneath him, a blindfold fitted snuggly over Zayn’s eyes as Liam teases at his dick with his hand and tongue to a litany of frustrated whines.

They’ve been making it a point to try something new every so often after the whole talk about kinks a little while back, Zayn wanting to explore more and more, and Liam’s happy to indulge. Licks at the head of the head of Zayn’s cock to more frustrated whines and then pulls back a little to wank him hard and fast for a bit before ducking back in. Closes his mouth around him and goes down once before he’s pulling back off again, wanking him at the same harsh rhythm. Then back in to lick at him a little. Then back off to wank him slow and loose, then fast and hard again. Back and forth and back and forth he switches so Zayn never knows what’s coming, bucking his hips desperately up against Liam’s lips or into his hand or open air.

After a while of teasing Liam reaches for Zayn’s hand fisted in the sheets beside him. Lays Zayn’s own hand over his cock where it lays hard and wet with spit over his own stomach and Zayn wraps his fingers around himself and starts to tug, slow, up and down just a couple of times before he’s pausing a few moments later, reaching his free hand up to push the blindfold up to his forehead with a harsh inhale.

“Sorry, just…need to be able to see when I do this. Seeing you and…the room and stuff…it helps. You know, so I don’t, um…so I don’t see…other stuff…” he trails off, voice going soft at the end and Liam nods quickly, stuttering out an apology.

“Shit, sorry, sorry, wasn’t thinking, that was stupid of me.”

“S’okay,” Zayn says with a small smile, starting up wanking himself again, slow and rhythmic. “I like this,” he says gesturing to the blindfold with his free hand. “Makes it fun not knowing what you’re gonna do next. But I don’t mind doing this for a bit too.” He flexes the hand on his dick, eyes still on Liam, dark and teasing.

Liam settles down over Zayn’s thigh, not quite leaning on it but hovering just over it, elbows bracketing it as he watches Zayn lazily wank himself till he can see that Zayn’s close. Palms his own cock to the rhythm of Zayn’s strokes until he sees Zayn’s balls starting to draw up and then he’s reaching to pry Zayn’s fingers away amid a soft whine of protest from Zayn. Gestures for him to slide the blindfold back on and waits until it’s firmly back over Zayn’s eyes before he runs teasing fingers up and down the thigh he’s not currently leaned over.

Zayn lets out a frustrated breath and Liam smirks, runs light fingers up Zayn’s hip, his side, all the way up, until he can reach his nipples again and rubs a thumb over one roughly. Smirks even wider at the way Zayn’s hips jerk just a little in surprise and arousal, wetness glistening at the tip of his cock, dribbling onto his stomach in a sticky smear.

He’s still close, Liam’s pretty sure, with the way his cock is practically straining against itself from how hard he is, dark and angry red against the taught muscles of his stomach and it won’t take much more. Liam scoots a little further up, hips level with Zayn’s now and a thigh between Zayn’s legs as he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Zayn’s hair, scratches gently as his scalp and then tugs at the strands wrapped between his fingers, just this side of hard.

Zayn gasps, lets out the tiniest little breathy moan and then bucks his hips up against Liam’s thigh, wrapping a leg around Liam’s and grinding up against him until he’s coming hot and wet and hard between them with jerky spasms and little choked off sounds.

“Fuck, baby, so beautiful,” Liam whispers over Zayn’s still parted lips as he wraps a hand around himself and tugs until he’s coming too, right over Zayn’s hip. Zayn slides the blindfold up in a flash to watch, lip bitten between his teeth and eyes hungry until Liam’s slumping against his side.

“Wow,” Liam breathes.

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes back. And then with a slowly spreading grin flashed at Liam, somehow cat-like and child-like at the same time, “I really like this kink stuff.”

Liam snorts into his shoulder, laughing. “Oh God, I’ve created an even bigger monster now, haven’t I?”

Zayn smirks. “Your fault for indulging me.”

Liam just buries his face into Zayn’s shoulder and groans, loud and overdramatic. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die from too much sex and I’m gonna be dead.”

When he peeks an eye open to peer up at him, Zayn’s still just smirking like he’s welcoming Liam’s death by orgasm and Liam hates him, mumbles as much into his shoulder only to get an even wider, more evil smirk in response.

*

“Christ, I feel like I haven’t been here in forever,” Louis says, looking around dramatically like he’s expecting there to be some great new change inside the flat as he and the others all file in.

“Stop being so dramatic, it’s only been a few weeks,” Liam says with a roll of his eyes, sharing a quick conspiratorial glance with Zayn because the main reason they’d put their usual Friday night romp on pause was because of everything being so crazy.

First the petrol station attack and then the night terrors and just the both of them being in a weird headspace with everything going on. They’d just needed some time to themselves. But now that things have started to settle and they’re finally both feeling like they’re getting back to some sense of normalcy it feels weird to still be keeping everyone at arm’s length.

So they’re all back, trying to get back into the swing of things, even if the others don’t know the whole truth of what’s really going on yet. They know _some_. Had immediately recognized him and Zayn on the security camera footage they still keep blasting all over the news like no tomorrow. And so he and Zayn had told them about the attack, but they’d left it at that. The others all still think that was the end of it, that no one’s tried to come after Zayn again since but that Zayn had been pretty shaken up after and needed some space, hence them not coming over for a while. Most of which is partly true, in a way, but for now both him and Zayn have decided they don’t really need to know the whole story. And it’s for their own safety anyway because, knowing the others, they’d probably want to get involved to help somehow which would only put them in unnecessary danger. So white lies it is, for now.

Which is why it’s not the least bit surprising when Louis finds a way to make light of what would otherwise be a very serious and scary situation if they knew the whole truth.

“Yeah, yeah, right, a few weeks of ‘healing’ and that,” Louis says, rolling his eyes and scoffing. “Sure, Jan. George Glass says hello.”

“Louis—” Liam starts

“Oh, come on, Liam, you can stop with the lame, half-arsed explanations, if you wanted an excuse to be alone and shag like rabbits for a few weeks you could’ve just said.”

“We haven’t even been—” he starts to argue, but then realizes that that would be a lie because yeah, they definitely have. A lot. Even if it has been more just for stress relief than anything.

“Oh? Sorry, what was that? You haven’t what?” Louis says, turning his ear toward Liam and cupping it just to be obnoxious. When Liam doesn’t answer Louis leans back against the counter, arms crossed and face smug. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Like I was saying, you could’ve just said.”

“Oi, leave the newlyweds alone, they’re still on their honeymoon,” Niall says, popping open a beer with a grin and taking a sip.

“Honeymoon, my arse, it’s been six goddamn months,” Louis grumbles. “You’d think they were trying for a baby or something, for fuck’s sake.”

“You know, jealousy’s not a good look on you,” Sarah chimes, stealing Niall’s beer for a few sips.

Harry snorts a laugh. “He’s just mad cause he’s not getting any.”

“Neither are you, arsehole,” Louis says, glaring.

“Yeah, but I’m not being a dick about it. Life’s too short to be cranky and bitter. I’ll get some when I get it. In the meantime I’m gonna live while I’m young.”

He hops up onto the chair behind him at the end of the counter, grabs one of the containers of Chinese takeaway that Liam ordered for them all and digs into it, pausing a few bites in to look calculatingly down at the granite.

“I probably shouldn’t be eating off this counter considering how many ways it’s likely been defiled by now,” he says slowly, like he’s musing.

“Don’t worry, the kitchen’s safe,” Zayn says with a sly smile.

“Um, yeah, we sort of have a ‘no kitchen sex’ rule,” Liam explains, cheeks a little warm even though he’s smiling too.

“Can’t make the same promise about everywhere else though.” Zayn smirks and Louis makes a face.

“Even the coffee table?” Harry says a little wistfully, glancing over to the living room area briefly.

“Even the coffee table,” Zayn replies solemnly.

“If it makes you feel any better though it was disinfected and cleaned very thoroughly before you got here,” Liam adds.

Louis looks one hundred percent done with this entire conversation. “Petition to move Weekly Night In to _ours_ where there’s no sex happening for the foreseeable future?”

“And have to clean up after you _even more_ than I already do? Every single week? No, thanks,” Harry says still munching on chicken lo mein. “As long as there’s no _actual_ come lying about anywhere, I’m good.”

“Christ, we’re not barbarians,” Liam says, only half-feigning offence.

“No, but some of us have no morals and would probably get a good laugh out of seeing one of their mates sitting in his come,” Louis says looking pointedly at Zayn.

“Yeah, sure, ‘no morals,’ says the one who joked about trying to get me sleep with him using code words,” Zayn snaps right back with a smug smirk.

“Oooh, burn! Nice one, mate!” Niall whoops, reaching up for a high-five, which Zayn returns with a grin.

“Whatever,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. “You two’ve been in cahoots ever since you started working together anyway.”

Niall sticks his tongue out at him.

“You tell him, babe,” Sarah says with an encouraging little curt nod.

“I hate all of you. I’m never coming here again. Friendship cards revoked, all of you,” Louis says snootily.

“ _Finally_ ,” Zayn grumbles. “I was beginning to think our plan to get those pesky little things revoked was _never_ going to work. Good riddance.” He tosses a piece of one of the takeaway cartons—which he somehow found the time to fold up like a little card without anyone seeing—in Louis’ general direction like he’s genuinely glad to be rid of it and Louis just glares while everyone snorts and howls with laughter.

*

Later, when Liam’s got Zayn spread out underneath him, wrists cuffed together above his head, Liam kisses Zayn breathless for it, proud of him, even with all his snark, for being so unapologetically _him_.

Zayn keens, straining up for more and nearly breaking the handcuffs in two in the process, and Liam’s thankful they ultimately went with this way instead of another when they’d talked this all over. He’d thought about tying or cuffing Zayn to the headboard but he’d been too worried it might break and there was also the now twice-cracked wall to consider. There’s only so much you can spackle before it starts to get obvious that it’s _been_ spackled and a third layer on top of the previous two would have definitely been pushing it. Two’s already too obvious for his liking. Not that this is the time to be thinking about spackling anyway.

Not when he’s got Zayn cuffed and hard underneath him. At his mercy.

And it’s not like Zayn couldn’t break out of them, not to mention probably break them to pieces like tinfoil, fairly easily if he wanted to but it’s more about the implication for both of them then it is the practicality of it. All Zayn would have to do is say the word and Liam would stop and take him out of them immediately. But the fun of it is that he’s letting it happen, keeping them on, pretending Liam’s really got all of the control here because he _wants_ Liam to have it. And that’s the difference between this and all the things that were done to him before against his will, without his choice or his say so.

He’s _letting_ it happen and he could stop it at any point if he wanted to but, like he’s told Liam time and time again now, he _likes_ the thrill of letting Liam take the reigns, ordering him around and taking control of everything. Which Liam never thought in a million years he’d be into. Much less _this_ into. But Zayn somehow brings it out of him. Brings all these things out of him he’d never even known were there.

When Liam finally works him open with two fingers to start—because he’s still loose from when they did this earlier, before the others got here—Zayn whines long and high because Liam’s been teasing him for the better part of an hour already. Left a trail of hickeys and bite marks down his chest that’ll be gone by morning but are still there for now and sucked him off close to the edge three times. But still won’t let Zayn touch himself because he’s not allowed to move his hands from where they’re stretched out up above his head. Clasped together by straining metal that’s already a little bent out of shape from the way he’s been tugging against it desperately trying to keep himself still, hands flat against the bed, palms up.

“Hnnn…Leeyummm,” he whines, fingers clenching at nothing as he tries to rock down and force Liam’s fingers deeper but Liam shakes his head.

“Ah, nope,” he says, smirking and pulling them back out with a slick sound as he waits for Zayn to go still again.

Zayn lets out a sound that’s practically a sob as he forces himself to lie still while Liam works his fingers in again, three this time, and then leans down to lick around them, between them. The second Liam curls his fingers inside him Zayn’s coming all over himself, clenching down _hard_ , teeth gritting together as he lets out these ridiculously hot little grunts. Liam keeps his fingers buried inside him until just after Zayn’s finished, leans down to give him one last quick, teasing little lick with the flat of his tongue. And then he slides his fingers out and pushes his cock in in one swift glide while Zayn’s still twitching a little with aftershocks, oversensitive.

Zayn lets out a hiss and then a weak little punched out sound as Liam bottoms out and wraps his legs around Liam’s waist, squeezing his eyes shut. Liam goes fast at first—contrary to his usual slow starting rhythm—loving the way it overwhelms an already oversensitive Zayn and forces out more little punched out sounds from his chest. But then he’s slowing down, teasing again, slow and slow and slow, in and out, and Zayn opens his eyes. Blows out a breath like a frustrated pant and then lets out this pitiful little sad-sounding hum when Liam just keeps it up.

“ _Please_ ,” Zayn whines, breathless and desperate, eyes big and dark and pleading and Liam couldn’t say no even if he wanted to with Zayn begging like that. He pulls Zayn up, hooking Zayn’s cuffed hands around the back of his neck, Zayn’s thighs bracketing his waist with Liam still inside him. Grips his hands over Zayn’s hips for leverage and fucks up into him fast and hard again, Zayn meeting him thrust for thrust with those stupidly hot breathy little moans until Liam’s coming deep inside him with a groan muffled into Zayn’s neck. Clutches at Zayn roughly while Zayn keeps rocking down onto him, milking everything out of him.

Liam wraps a hand around Zayn’s steadily leaking cock between them, pressing gentle kisses to Zayn’s neck and moments later he’s coming in hot pulses too all over Liam’s fingers, clinging to him with bruising fingertips pressed into the top of Liam’s back, nails digging in just a little. Liam’s dick twitches weakly inside Zayn trying desperately to get hard again even with how incredibly spent he already is and Zayn moans softly at the feeling, the two of them wrapped up together clutching at each other and breathing the same air.

They don’t pull apart until long after Liam’s started to go soft and is beginning to slip out of him. The sheets are a right mess, especially with his own cum leaking out of Zayn on top of the lube and half-dried saliva already all over the place but both of them are too tired to care. Just scoot to the driest part of the bed they can find and curl back up together, Liam fingering idly at Zayn where he’s still wet and sensitive. Letting Zayn rut up against him until Zayn’s coming again, and not even caring that he’s half hard again himself as they fall asleep with the lights still on.

*

Liam’s sitting in his and David’s office at work, engrossed in edits for one of their more recent proposals when his phone dings on his desk, lighting up with a message, and on his screen is a very, very, _very_ not safe for work photo.

Liam nearly drops the phone to the floor in his mad scramble to turn it face down, cheeks flaming.

“Liam,” David calls suddenly from the other side of the office. “Can you send me the notes you have so far on the Johansson Proposal?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, voice coming out a little higher than normal and David flits his gaze up from his own computer screen to look at him, brow furrowed.

“Are you alright? You look a little flushed.”

Liam plasters on a smile and nods quickly. “Yup, fine.”

“You’re sure? You’re not coming down with something again, are you?”

“No, all good…just a bit…um…warm in here’s all.”

“Is it?”

“Anyway, um, I’ll have those notes to you in just a moment…” Liam ducks his head back down to his computer, sends off a quick e-mail with the aforementioned notes and goes back to the other proposal, reading each word on the page extra slowly in the hopes that it bores him back down to non-aroused territory.

 _Fucking Zayn_. The menace. He _knows_ Liam’s at work for another five goddamn hours. Now he’s got to spend the whole rest of the day sexually frustrated.

*

Zayn thinks he’s fucking funny. He’s not.

Apparently one picture hadn’t been enough for him. It’s a little after five o’clock and Liam’s just now leaving work for the day but over those five torturous hours Zayn had proceeded to send four more photos. _Four_. As if just one wasn’t already doing Liam’s head in.

He’d been playing around with the vibrator Liam ordered online a few days ago at Zayn’s insistence—because evidently he wants to try a shit ton of new things and drive Liam into an early grave—which apparently arrived today. And Liam’s glad that he felt okay enough to try it out on his own because that’s progress if there ever was any in this whole on-going “getting Zayn more comfortable with himself” game they’ve got going, but still. There’s a limit and there’s a _limit_. And Liam can only take so much.

Which is why he nearly gets into two accidents on his way home because he can’t fucking think straight because _Zayn_.

“I hate you,” he calls the second he’s in the door.

But, predictably, because Zayn is the absolute worst and the universe apparently hates Liam with a passion, his declaration falls on deaf ears because Zayn is asleep when he gets to the bedroom doorway. Curled up under the sheets, soft and peaceful like he wasn’t just sending Liam obscene pictures for the better part of the day.

Liam sighs, shucking his work clothes in a fit of frustration, throwing on a pair of joggers, and curling onto the bed beside him.

“Evil,” he mutters in Zayn’s general direction even though he knows Zayn can’t hear him and then he’s pulling out his laptop from his workbag and setting to work on the proposal he never managed to finish at the office today because _Zayn_.

Hours later, when Zayn’s finally snuffling awake from his late afternoon slumber, Liam just rolls his eyes.

“Finally joining the world of the living, are we?”

“Mmmm,” Zayn hums sleepily, stretching like a cat, and then shuffling around to his other side so his face is towards Liam. “Did you like my photos?”

“Were my repeated replies of ‘I hate you’s’ not clear enough?” Liam says, not even bothering to look away from his laptop this time.

Zayn just smirks. Kicks a foot out to wrap his leg around Liam’s teasingly.

“If you wanna keep that foot I suggest you move it.”

“Pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line,” Zayn says and Liam can still hear the smirk in his voice as he ignores Liam’s warning and just scoots closer.

And normally it’d be no big deal. Normally it really would be an empty threat. Except that Liam’s patience wore thin about seven hours ago.

Before he’s even fully aware of what he’s doing he’s snapping his laptop shut and shoving it somewhere to the side of the bed; grabbing at Zayn until he’s facing the other way again, back pressed to Liam’s chest as he tugs Zayn’s boxers off roughly, Liam’s fingers immediately probing at him where he’s still slick and loose from earlier and then pushing right in, all three at once.

Zayn lets out a surprised hitch of breath and then shuts right up, letting Liam fuck him with his fingers fast and rough. And then Liam’s using what little bit of lube is leftover on his fingers to slick himself up and fuck Zayn the same way, pace bruising. Well, for someone normal anyway.

Zayn can’t even get a proper sound out, is just taking it with these harsh little breathless pants, not even squirming or moving to rock back for once because he doesn’t have a chance to with the way Liam’s pounding into him.

He’s boneless against Liam, little pants and hitches of breath being punched out of him with every thrust as Liam aims right for that spot inside with the same bruising force, hands gripping at Zayn’s hips to keep from being knocked across the bed with the force of it.

Zayn’s fingers twitch against the sheets, his mouth dropping open and he cranes his head back towards Liam a little, sounds like he’s trying to say something but he can’t get the words out and then suddenly he’s coming, completely untouched. The softest little sound coming out of him like he can barely manage even that.

Liam just keeps going, rocking into that same spot hard and fast until Zayn’s hissing and shivering and gasping against him, dick filling up again too fast. His breaths sound almost like hiccups now and he can barely even keep his eyes open as Liam dicks into him. He’s shaking so hard Liam has to grip his hips even tighter just to keep himself from slipping out. Liam’s close now too though, the way Zayn’s completely gone on this driving him mad and it only takes a few more harsh thrusts and him grinding in deep once, twice, three times before he’s coming so hard he sees white. Body seizing up behind Zayn as Zayn comes again too, clenching weakly around him and letting out an even softer sound than before as he drags Liam’s orgasm out even longer, spilling over his own stomach and all over the sheets untouched again.

Liam’s not quite done with him yet though. Wants him to really pay for earlier and what better way to do that than with the very thing he used to torture Liam all day.

Liam feels around over the sheets while Zayn lays there, still shaking, until he feels the little oblong shape trapped under the covers down by the foot of the bed. Roots down under the sheets to grab it and then turns it onto its lowest setting because at this point Zayn might actually have an aneurysm if he turns it on any higher.

Zayn jolts and lets out a sound that’s probably supposed to be a grunt but falls way short with barely any strength behind it as Liam pushes the toy inside in one swift thrust, using his own cum as lube.

Zayn jerks and shakes again weakly, lets out these feeble little ragged gasps like it’s too much work to even breathe as Liam twists and angles it just so, so it’s pressed right up against that spot. Watches Zayn try and scratch at the sheets ineffectively, fingers managing barely more than weak twitches, sweaty strands of hair matted to his face and neck as he lets out these little choked off noises and it doesn’t take long. Liam presses his fingers right up against the base of it, pushing it snug tight up against that place inside and not even minutes later Zayn’s coming again for a third time in rapid succession, dribbling weakly over himself with a soft wheeze that was probably meant to be a moan.

Liam pulls the toy out slowly and then flicks it off and shoves it somewhere across the bed, figuring it doesn’t really matter since they’ll clearly be needing to wash the sheets anyway. Or more likely _he_ will since Zayn probably won’t be moving for about a week after this.

“Okay?” Liam says, scooting in close but not quite touching him because Zayn’s still shaking and his whole body probably feels like a livewire right about now. He manages something approximating a nod though, which calms Liam down the little bit he needed before he can start to worry that he might have taken it too far. Because they may have talked a little about something like this but they hadn’t quite planned it yet, and certainly not for this soon or this sudden. Neither of them had been expecting to just jump right into it like this headfirst and right into the deep end but Liam clearly let his frustration take over and push him into jumping the gun.

Everything about this whole experimenting with kinks thing up to now has been about calculated and meticulous planning, working their way up to things slowly, and this was very _not_ slow or calculated. This was the complete opposite of slow and calculated. Which was probably hotter than it should have been, but still. They need to be being more careful about this. Not letting slip-ups like this become a regular thing before one of them accidentally gets pushed too far.

“You okay for me to touch you?” he says when Zayn’s finally stopped shaking quite so much and his breathing is a little more even.

Zayn nods but he still shivers a little when Liam curls gentle fingers over his side.

“Was it good?” Liam says, lips pressed to the shell of his ear.

“Was…incredible,” Zayn mumbles, breath still a little labored and voice raspy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…felt like I was…ascending or something…”

“ _Ascending_?” Liam repeats with a laugh.

“Yeah, like…like…I was somewhere else for a moment or something, but, like, still here. Was really intense.”

Liam laughs again into Zayn’s neck, presses a gentle kiss there. “I have no idea what you’re talking about and I don’t think you do either but just sleep for now, yeah? And I’ll wipe you down and bring you some food a little later.”

“Okay,” Zayn says dopily, closing his eyes and Liam’s pretty sure it’s the fastest he’s ever seen Zayn fall asleep.

*

Two days after his fight with the creepy android monster version of Handler A Zayn wakes up from a nightmare, a new one this time. He’s shaking in Liam’s arms even long after it’s over.

He’d joked about it before, about them sending more of those things after him, but Liam had known that, like with most times when it comes to Zayn’s humor, the jokes had been more of a defense mechanism than anything. This time he’d dreamed of a whole team of them, _his_ team. Or former team. Pouring out of a van to overtake him. He’d fought some of them off, ripped metal from skin, snapped and crushed bones under his hands and feet, drenched himself in the mix of red and dark green-ish substance that makes up their blood. But in the end the rest had still closed in on him, inhuman growls and grunts mixed in with the animalistic whimpers and cries of the wounded and dying, as they crowded over him and clawed and bit and ripped their way through him.

“I’ve got you,” Liam says, arms circled around Zayn’s waist pressing them close chest to chest, but careful not to hold him too tight right now lest he thinks he’s being grabbed again, lips pressed to the skin of Zayn’s neck just below his ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Don’t wanna go back to sleep,” he says into Liam’s shoulder, voice soft but ragged.

“Okay. That’s okay. We can just lay here, yeah?”

Zayn shakes his head. His back is still fluttering under Liam’s hands with labored breaths.

“What do you need, babe?”

“Make me forget? _Please_?” he says and his voice is so small and desperate.

Liam hesitates, presses his nose into Zayn’s sweat-slick shoulder. He knows what Zayn’s asking but he doesn’t know if _he_ can right now. Not while seeing Zayn so shaken up like this.

“Zayn…I don’t…I don’t know if I—”

“ _Please_?”

Liam sighs, long and shaky. “Are…are you sure?”

“Yes. _Please_ , Liam?”

“Okay…okay.” Liam nods, taking in one more deep breath, blowing it out, softly, slowly.

Zayn is quiet at first. Devoid of his usual eagerness as Liam opens him up. Stays half-rigid and taught—not enough to shut Liam out, but enough to make it a bit of a challenge—until Liam’s gotten two fingers in him, curled up inside. He goes a little looser then, a little more open, lets out a soft little sound into Liam’s neck where his face is still buried.

“Okay?” Liam says softly into his shoulder, working in a third finger.

“Mm-hmm.”

Liam’s still only barely half hard, doesn’t think he could get much further than that right now even if he wanted to. “Zayn…I don’t…this is all I can do right now…m’sorry…”

“S’okay, just don’t stop…please?” Zayn mumbles into his skin and his voice still sounds so small.

“I won’t, I’ve got you.” He presses kisses into Zayn’s temple, his cheek, his ear, his hair, wherever he can reach. Lets Zayn rock down onto his fingers until he’s drawing up tight against him with a hitched breath, spilling hot and wet against both their stomachs. When he comes back down it’s the most relaxed Liam’s felt him since before they went to sleep and Liam cleans him off with gentle swipes and curls himself back around Zayn protectively when he’s done, to a mumbled thank you which Liam tuts away.

It’s a long time before either of them falls back to sleep but in the morning Zayn’s mostly back to his usual half-cheery, half-sarcastic self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[[[TW for overstimulation, undernegotiated kink, rough sex (sort of), and sex as a coping mechanism; i know this fic might be triggery in general and that’s kind of expected cause of the main tags but this is the first time the sex actually delves a bit more into the triggery realm (and also the first time literally an entire chapter has been dedicated to sexytime stuff instead of just one or two scenes that you can scroll past) so if you need to skip for reasons, whatever they may be, don’t worry about missing out on anything cause there’s literally like zero plot development in this chapter lol]]]**
> 
> And now onto the regular end notes…
> 
> Realized there hadn’t been ANY sex scenes yet from Liam’s pov…idk how that happened but decided to indulge—and also delve a bit into the kink stuff hinted at in earlier chapters—and figured this was the perfect moment for a reprieve too given what’s coming *insert evil laughter here* anyway hope you all enjoyed this one cause (slight spoiler) this is kinda gonna be the calm before the storm...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are we ready to commence with the next wild rollercoaster ride of angst and feeeeeeelings?????  
> ok good. prepare your emotions (and buckle your seatbelts). and remember i did warn y’all...

_Zayn_

Liam is late. Way late. And Zayn is trying very hard not to panic but each passing minute only edges him further and further into full on panic territory. Because Liam went for a run early this morning and never came back.

That was almost five hours ago now, when he left. Kissed Zayn goodbye while Zayn was still half asleep and he’d just mumbled and rolled over and fallen right back into a peaceful doze. Woken up a couple hours later expecting Liam to be back by then but he wasn’t. And now he’s not answering his phone. And Zayn’s called around to everyone he can think of, running down the iPad battery to practically nothing even though he has no idea where the charger is, but no one’s heard from Liam. And _they’ve_ got no reason to take Liam when it’s _him_ they’re after, _him_ they want, because it’s not like them to take hostages. Threatens the security of the program if they’ve got to worry about anything coming back on them if the hostage talks or finds some way to identify them and point suspicion back their way. But it’s been just that side of too long since Zayn’s spotted a tail and it’s not like Liam to just fall off the grid like this. Him maybe, but not Liam.

And honestly it could be anything else. It could be that Liam got held up somewhere and his phone died or he lost it. Or this is all part of some big elaborate joke or surprise he’s planning that everyone’s in on, albeit not a funny one. Or he got mugged. Or someone else just happened to grab him in the most coincidental turn of events. Or anything really. It’s real life, shit happens everyday that doesn’t necessarily involve the program or the messed-up little bubble they’ve been living in and he recognizes _they’re_ not the only threat out there. That there’s a million other scenarios way more likely than the one he’s thinking but that doesn’t do anything to quell the slowly rising panic.

Which is why while he’s still got the relative advantage of daylight on his side he goes out looking. Turning down some of the routes he knows Liam usually takes, and then others too just in case Liam made an unlikely detour, decided to switch things up and ended up someplace he shouldn’t. But there’s nothing. No sign of him. No scattered phone or keys, or cracked water bottle laying across the pavement, no abandoned backpack or headphones. Not that anyone who was smart would leave those things behind just laying around for someone else to find as evidence of what happened but he’s desperate. Doesn’t even really know what he’s looking for when it’s more than likely that, whatever happened, any evidence of it is long gone by now but he couldn’t just sit in that empty flat doing nothing a second longer.

He’s more surprised than he should be though when he turns down some side street he doesn’t even remember the name of, with nothing but an empty abandoned car lot on one side and a half-finished construction site on the other, and three vans suddenly pull up. Drive right up on the curb and screech to a halt on the little pathway he’d been crossing by that leads up to the old car lot entrance and spans the distance between this block and the next.

The doors bang open and Zayn readies himself for a fight. Though whether it’s going to be an easy one with an incompetent team of armed gunmen who clearly have no idea what the fuck they’re doing and who they’re up against, or a hard one with three more of those science experiments gone wrong he has no idea. Hopes and prays it’s not the latter because he’s not even sure he’d be able to take two of them at a time and still make it out with his life. He’d gotten lucky last time managing to distract and confuse the one long enough to take it down, but trying to dodge and distract _two_ at once? Much less _three or more_? There’s no way that ends well for him even if he does make it out alive.

He reels back though in surprise when out come a team of operatives and Handlers, split up into three groups to fit into the vans but clearly a unit in the way the operatives all move together with cohesion. And _this_ is what he’d been expecting. After the petrol station when he’d been waiting for someone to come after him, _this_ is what he’d been anticipating. Not a bunch of dumb brutes with guns who don’t even know the meaning of the word undercover and make fighting feel like child’s play, but this.

So still with the same old games then, he thinks to himself as he eyes them all, they’ve just expanded their repertoire to occasionally include weird robot experiments and incompetent undercover teams.

It’s certainly unexpected now though, the sudden switch-up, when he’s gotten too used to the dumb brutes, throws him for a loop even more when he recognizes some of the faces. A couple of them from his old team, a couple from the others, a few Handlers he remembers from the bunker that he never got paired with but knows all the same, and more still unfamiliar. There’s twenty-one of them all together—sixteen operatives and five Handlers—uneven, which strikes him as strange until he realizes there’s probably a few more waiting in the front seats, hanging back just in case. A Handler and two more operatives if he had to guess. One to keep the other two in check while they wait, and order to them to either join the fight or drive off for a quick get-away depending on the outcome. Which means the last two are probably high level and have likely got eye cams and other mods too, or else they wouldn’t be allowed to drive—something he probably would have been subjected to too had he been in the program much longer. Or perhaps not, since he was constantly being told or overhearing about how the Director had “special plans” for him. He supposes he’ll never know what those were now, not that he cares.

Redirecting to his attention back to the operatives and Handlers pouring out the vans in front of him, he sizes up his options. Twenty-one against one. Possibly twenty-four against one. The odds aren’t good. But it’ll be easier if he goes for the Handlers first. Cuts out the operatives’ source of orders. The higher level ones, the ones from his team and Beta Team will probably still keep fighting either way because it’s what they’ve been trained to do. But the others, the ones he doesn’t recognize who he’s assuming are from the lower teams unless they’ve since moved up, will probably fall back, unsure what to do without the Handlers around to guide them.

Plus there’s only six of the Handlers so if he takes them out first he’ll hopefully be immobilizing most of the team and will only have to actually fight the few operatives left over, which he’s pretty sure he can beat even if it might be a challenge going up against four of them at once. But he knows their fighting styles, has bested all of them at least once if not more at one time or another in sparring sessions, back when he still had to participate in that kind of thing, before he leveled out.

He goes for the Handler closest to him first, one he doesn’t recognize, and grabs for her gun, firing off a quick head shot at her and then another a few feet away. They drop to the ground with identical thuds as he’s turning to the third one but before he can fire again the gun is kicked out of his hands by one of the operatives he doesn’t recognize on a desperate order shouted from the third Handler at the last second.

Zayn doesn’t want to hurt any of the other operatives, especially the lower-ranked ones who are probably still so new to this—absolutely refuses to kill them no matter what, a decision he’d made easily after the petrol station when he’d first started preparing for being hunted down. But there’s no way he’s going to get out of this without at least hurting some, and while he might have less qualms about hurting his own former teammates who he knows can bounce back no problem, these other operatives are a different case. Might not be as resilient, especially the younger ones. And it’s odd, that they’ve thrown them all together like this, all manner of ranks and ages on one team. Has him sparing a moment to wonder if this is all they have left, or if they’ve just completely given up on the concepts of order and protocol, or were just in a rush and grabbed whoever they could and whoever was available at the time, or some combination of the above. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on that now.

He grabs at the leg of the operative who attacked him, a boy who doesn’t look much older than thirteen, while it’s still midair and uses the kid’s own remaining momentum to pull him a little closer. Hits him in the head with the butt of the gun just hard enough to knock him out temporarily, leave him with a mild headache but no real lasting injuries, and then fires off his shot at the third Handler, the two of them falling to the ground at almost the same time.

In the next second someone is coming at him from behind, charging at him and nearly knocking him flat on his face but he catches himself with a knee digging firmly into the pavement and rears backwards with his arm, elbowing his attacker hard in the face. Whips around to find it’s one of his teammates, Eight, and the other three high-level operatives are converging in on him fast. He elbows Eight in the face two more times, _hard_ , aiming both blows for her forehead instead of her already bloody nose this time until she’s falling back against the ground limp and then he’s scrambling up and running for the fourth Handler before the other operatives from his team and Beta Team can get to him.

He goes to grab for the man’s gun but, Handlers being better trained than whatever those other guys were they’d been sending after him before, the man fights him off before he can and then sics another of the lower-ranked operatives on him.

Zayn knocks her out too with a hard punch to the chest that sends her careening back into the nearest van, head knocking harshly against the corner of it, just behind the still open door, with a hollow thunk and leaving a nice little dent behind in her wake as she slumps to the ground. Zayn winces. He hadn’t meant to get her quite so hard but he’d been working off the momentum of his brief tussle with the Handler when she came at him. Trying to put enough force behind his blows to take out a grown man, not a teenage girl, even enhanced as she is, and hadn’t had time to pull his punch back just a little. She’ll be okay though, maybe a bit concussed but she’ll live, probably be up and back in fighting shape within a couple of days if they even give her that before sending her out again.

Zayn aims another punch for the side of the man’s head and he tries to dodge it but Zayn’s too fast. And even though the slight movement he manages to make before Zayn’s fist connects with his face throws Zayn’s initial mark off, it’s only by a little. Ends up hitting him square in the jaw with a sickening crunch instead of the side of his head like Zayn had been aiming for. And Zayn had intended for it to be a kill blow, to fracture his skull instead of his jaw, but this works well enough too. Gives Zayn enough time to finally grab for the man’s gun and fire a shot off. Whip around to check behind him just in time to see his former teammates—who must’ve been waiting all this time to see if the Handler would take him down—coming at him.

Zayn fires off a shot to each of the shoulders of their dominant arms. On the right for two of them and the left for the third. Knows it won’t stop any of them from coming at him or even slow them down but it’ll make it a hell of a lot easier to get the jump on them when they reach him.

Six gets there first, followed closely by Nineteen and Zayn kicks Six against the van like he did the girl earlier. He’s bigger than her though, more sturdy, so it doesn’t knock him out but it does distract him long enough for Zayn to grab Nineteen in by her injured arm and choke her out without anyone to fight him. At least for a moment because then Five—the only one of them from Beta Team—is rearing up to them and Zayn drags Nineteen back, keeping a firm hold around her throat with his arm as she fights futilely against him. But she’s weakened by her injury and the air she’s already lost and a few moments later she’s going limp in his arms and then falling through them to the ground at his feet, pulse weaker than normal but still there.

Five keeps coming at him, leaping right over Nineteen’s body to get to Zayn as Zayn keeps edging backwards and Six is back up on his feet now as well. But before Six can get close enough to reach him too Zayn kicks Five in his injured shoulder, then leaps forward and grabs him by the neck using the leverage and his own momentum to knock Five back and down to the ground so he lands head first against the asphalt before the rest of his body follows, immediately unconscious. And then Zayn’s vaulting up to meet Six head on, blocking his blows and aiming cheap jabs at his shoulder as they go hand to hand for a few moments before Zayn surprises him with a headbutt to the face. It only sends him stumbling back one small step but it’s enough because one moment off-balance is all Zayn needs to knock him back into the van again hard and pounce on him, knocking him down to the ground and pummeling his head against the lower rim of the van until he’s finally out.

He’s gonna have a raging headache in the morning but at least he won’t know what it means to hate Zayn for it, Zayn thinks wryly as he gets back up, leaving Six slumped against the side of the van.

He edges back around the side of it and towards the rear again slowly, hyperaware of the one Handler that’s still left, and the other possible one that could still be waiting in one of the other vans. He’s pretty sure it’s not this one cause he thinks they probably would’ve tried to come out and help take him down if they’d seen the way he was going at Six in the van’s side mirror. There’s definitely someone inside though, probably someone waiting for orders, judging by the ever-steady heartbeat coming from the cab that hadn’t gone up not once from surprise or adrenaline or fear or anything else like any normal person’s would the entire time he was pummeling Six into the side of the van.

When he comes back around to the back of the vans another lower-ranked operative comes charging at him but he fights the kid off easily with a few quick dodges and two swift, hard punches to the face and then he’s going for the Handler who gave the order. The man scrambles for his gun, but it’s clear even in the way he holds it that he’s not as well-trained as the other Handlers. Probably only just got cleared for field missions not too long ago and Zayn knocks it out of his hands easily, wraps a hand around his neck and squeezes and this time he’s aiming to kill, not just choke and knock-out. Can see the man’s face going red with the effort to fight for breath as Zayn closes his hold even tighter, can feel the life going out of him with each passing second as he gets closer and closer to crushing the man’s trachea beneath his hand. But then suddenly there’s the soft creak of a door and the crunch of footsteps on gravel behind Zayn, a harsh yell echoing across the space and over to him before he has a chance to do anything else.

“Power down, operative Twelve!”

Zayn goes still at the words, all of the fight, all of everything going out of him, grip going slack against the man’s throat the second the words are out, and the next thing he knows his mind is going fuzzy, thick with a haze of fog, and he can’t move.

He doesn’t know how much time passes between then and what happens next. Can’t think beyond the _words_ , the order, echoing around his head, willing him into submission, willing him into silence and stillness.

The next thing he knows someone’s grabbing his arms, pulling them behind his back, shoving him harshly toward the back of one of the vans where the doors sit open and waiting.

“…don’t know how the fuck you let things get this out of control. The code words are there for a reason, fucking _use_ them,” someone says.

Another harsh shove pushes him closer to the opens doors.

Then another voice comes, raspy, short of breath. “They…said he might not respond to them, I didn’t…think there was a point if it wasn’t even gonna work—”

“Those agents don’t know shit about shit, probably said the wrong damn thing and put it up to _him_ instead of their own stupidity. Fucking idiots go out on ten damn missions and can’t get him, lose all their men, even send their little pet science project out to play and still can’t catch him and we get him in one goddamn mission. Arrogant arseholes should’ve sent us out from the beginning. How much you wanna bet when we get back they’ll take the credit for _our_ dirty work?”

Another shove. Then another as he stumbles over some of the unconscious operatives’ legs, his own legs numb, feeling foreign and disconnected from his body and not his own. Like they’re no longer a part of him, like his entire being is no longer a part of him but completely separate from him, no longer under his control. Like a puppet on a string being moved and pushed this way and that. Everything muted but the sound of the voices behind him and the echo of the words, the _order_ , in his head keeping him heavy, weighed down in a foggy haze.

“What are we gonna do about the other operatives though?”

“Leave ‘em. Clean up crew’ll get ’em. Doesn’t look like he killed any of ‘em. Probably felt sorry for the poor sods, like they’re his lost little brothers and sisters or summat and he thought he could save ‘em.”

A snicker. Another shove.

“Yeah, well the fucker nearly killed _me_. Doesn’t give a shit about the Handlers clearly.”

“He’ll learn his lesson again. Just wait till he gets back to base and sees the surprise we have for him. Poor little operative-with-a-heart’s gonna shit his pants when he sees him.”

Another shove. Almost to the van now.

But even as he feels himself being forced closer and closer to the open doors, pushed and manhandled, something else is _pushing_ inside him too. Fighting through the fog and it _hurts_. Feels like something trying to claw its way through his skull and he closes his eyes against the searing pain in his head. Stumbles forward as the pain goes sharper and sharper, bleeding over into his other senses so it feels like it’s blinding him with how sharp it is.

But that’s when the thing—the _thought_ , he realizes—finally pushes its way all the way through. Through the haze and the fog and the blank emptiness of his mind just waiting for further orders to fill it up.

 _Liam_. You _have_ to find Liam. You have to _fight_.

Liam. God, how could he have forgotten? How could he have let himself get lost again? He can’t let them take him again. He _won’t_.

 _Fight_. He has to _fight_.

He tries to struggle against the person’s hold but still he can’t move. Even attempting to moving so much as a finger feels like a Herculean effort, like he’s pushing against a brick wall but he can’t give up. He _can’t_. He has to get out of this.

He pushes. _Pushes_. Pushes until he can move a finger. And then two. And then his whole hand, and it _hurts_. But he’s no stranger to pushing past pain and so he keeps going. Keeps pushing himself until he can feel a tingling in his entire body, feel his limbs coming back to him, control coming back to him, so that his body feels less and less like a foreign object outside of his control with each passing second.

Every nerve inside him feels like it’s buzzing. Buzzing with newfound sensation as it all comes back to him, every muscle, every tendon, every bone, every cell. Until his skin is settling once again. Back to himself fully.

One more harsh shove toward the open doors but this time he doesn’t go stumbling; his legs no longer feeling as if they’ve been stuffed with cotton, weak and hollow and foreign, but instead solid and steady beneath him. _His_.

He rips his arms free of the Handler’s hold and the man stumbles back from him, stunned, eyes wide. “What _the hell_ —”

But Zayn aims a blow at his jaw before he can finish, watches him go stumbling back even further as he grabs for the man’s gun from its holster. The man falls back against the ground with a thud as Zayn shoots him in the head and then fires off one final shot to the last remaining Handler. The same one he’d been choking before, who by the looks of it had been gathering the rest of the still-conscious operatives to herd back into the vans too.

The operatives stand for a moment, probably contemplating what to do in response to this change of events, and then simply continue marching to the vans in the usual precise two lines, sit inside and wait. Zayn sighs, shoulders sagging, thankful it’s finally over, a little in disbelief that he came so close to going back there. But then suddenly the passenger side door of the first van is opening and out comes Twenty-two.

He looks around for a moment, surveying the scene that Zayn knows is likely all being recorded and transmitted through his eye cams, and then he strides towards Zayn, stance going rigid at the last moment in clear preparation for a fight.

Twenty-two was always his most even match. Even in sparring sessions—when they were still at a level where they had to do those—it was almost always a toss-up as to who would win. Until he discovered Twenty-two’s one weakness, that is. Started besting him, winning all their matches against each other. Twenty-two may have still been in charge on group missions because he had seniority, having been in the program longer than any of the rest of them—though how long exactly Zayn couldn’t be sure. But Zayn had been the better fighter for years now, ever since he’d figured out Twenty-two’s one weakness.

He hides it well, so well it had taken Zayn years to even notice it. Years of studying Twenty-two’s every move, his every strike, looking for any kind of chink in his armor—a certain move or stance used too often, a favored side, a predictable pattern to his blows and strikes, anything—and finding none, assuming there _were_ none. And then one day he’d seen it. The way Twenty-two kept his right knee just the slightest bit bent when he leaned his weight on it as he moved. He’d noticed it before of course, couldn’t not when he’d been studying Twenty-two’s every move for years but he’d always just assumed it was some sort of strategy, some kind of trick to keep him slightly off-balance so he could move quicker, dodge and jump away faster without it being predicted by his opponent. A method Zayn had even adopted for himself once he figured out the advantage. But that was just the way Twenty-two hid it. A clever disguise for a crucial weakness.

A slightly weaker knee, likely from an old break that never quite healed properly, or some other traumatic injury that Zayn’ll probably never know the origin of. Something Zayn probably would’ve figured out much earlier had it been anyone else. Because anyone else with that kind of injury likely would’ve favored their left leg more like he’d been looking for. But Twenty-two had clearly trained himself not to, used both sides equally and even used the weakness to his own advantage to throw opponents off, give himself a leg up with swifter, more fluid movements that one wouldn’t normally think to make since the more logical method was to keep your stance rigid to keep from being knocked off balance. But being able to switch quickly from a rigid to a slightly off-balance stance while still using your remaining weight to keep yourself grounded so you’re no more at threat of being knocked off your feet than you would be in a rigid stance was a genius strategy. One that served to not only disguise the problem and catch opponents off guard with unexpected movements but also to make Twenty-two a better fighter in the long run.

At least until Zayn figured it all out. Noticed how every single time he landed on his right leg or needed to shift his weight to his right side that knee would stay just the tiniest bit bent, unlike the other one. So much so that after a while it became clear that it wasn’t just a tactic but a defense, whether from residual pain or the uneven level of strength, he couldn’t be sure. But that was how Zayn had ultimately gotten to the level of beating him. Used that knowledge to get Twenty-two to overuse his right side so Zayn could take advantage of the weakness. Aim most of his blows to that side where he knew Twenty-two didn’t have as much strength until he could ultimately overpower him and win the fight.

It’s the tactic he’d used in his last few sparring sessions with Twenty-two before they’d both leveled out of the official ranking assessments. And the same one he used later on in unofficial ones—which is the only way he knows that Twenty-two is at least near, if not at the same unofficial level he is, though he can’t be sure of his exact level since he has no idea whether or not Twenty-two won the subsequent sparring sessions afterwards. But regardless it’s the same tactic he uses now, and it’s clear even from the first few blows that Zayn’s still the better fighter.

It’s not an easy fight. It never is with Twenty-two because as much as Zayn knows _his_ fighting style _he_ knows Zayn’s and neither of them is even close to predictable, both too smart for that.

They’re both fighting for the long game, but Twenty-two’s not fresh off fighting off a fucking mind warp on top of a whole squadron of operatives and Handlers after a two-hour trek through the city. So the real challenge is how much Zayn can manage to weaken Twenty-two’s vulnerable side before he himself starts to tire out. He’s got the thought of Liam keeping him going though where Twenty-two just has mission and duty and those may be strong but Zayn’s choosing to believe that love is stronger. Needs to if he’s going to make it the rest of the way through this fight.

Twenty-two’s already gotten a few good hits in, two to his ribs and one to his jaw, one to the side of his head, but Zayn’s gotten some good hits in too. Got a couple blows in to Twenty-two’s nose and jaw, a few hard kicks to his weak knee that he can already see have left him that much weaker, just a little but a little is all he really needs. He sends Twenty-two reeling back with a harsh punch to the chest, right underneath his sternum, knocking the breath out of the other man for a moment and leaving him heaving for air even as he charges right back at Zayn with a fist to his cheekbone. Twenty-two tries to use the blow as a distraction for a chance to get his hand around Zayn’s neck but Zayn knees him in the stomach, gets in another kick to his bad leg, and knocks his hand away, shoving him back.

They go at it again, a little more of the same back and forth, dancing around each other, each managing a few more hits and kicks every now and then, Zayn aiming most of his for Twenty-two’s right side. His leg when he can, but anywhere really is almost just as effective at this point because the weaker he gets on that side the more he’ll be struggling to support his weight. And it won’t be long before his knee can no longer take the strain and one good kick or punch or shove will send him down where he’ll be at Zayn’s mercy.

It takes longer than he expects it to. Probably partly because Zayn’s running low on energy. And partly because for all that he’s improved in his fighting strategies and techniques in the last few years since they last sparred, Twenty-two has too. And there’s moments where they both catch each other off guard with new moves and new strategies they haven’t seen from the other before. But eventually, inevitably, Twenty-two goes down.

Three sharp blows to his knee in rapid succession and he’s dropping to the ground, arms still up ready to fight even from his weakened position. But Zayn’s not trying to let this draw out any longer than it needs to and he drops down on top of him. Takes Twenty-two’s head between his hands ready to knock it back against the asphalt until Twenty-two passes out, like he did with Six against the van, when suddenly he hears the faint sound of static crackling from Twenty-two’s comms.

Twenty-two’s gaze goes a little distant as the order or message, or whatever it is, comes through his comms, just like Zayn’s probably used to too back when he was still like this, lost and so far away from himself. He can’t quite make any of it out over the faint static and the distance, even as close to Twenty-two as he is, sat over him like this. But it doesn’t matter because in the next moment Twenty-two is relaying the message to him anyway in the usual monotone voice of an operative.

“Twelve,” he says, “I have been instructed to inform you that if you desire to see your acquaintance Liam again you will surrender and accompany me back to base.”

Zayn scrambles back, away from Twenty-two and onto the blood-covered gravelly ground, feeling sick to his stomach. He’s not sure whose blood he’s sitting in. If it’s his own or Twenty-two’s or one of the other Handlers’ or operatives’ but he doesn’t care. Because over the course of this whole day it had been there in the back of his mind, the thought that they might have Liam but he hadn’t wanted to let himself think it was true. Had been hoping against hope that it was something else, _anything else_ , that had kept Liam from him even though a part of him had already known the truth.

He can’t deny it anymore though, Twenty-two’s words hanging in the air stale and sour and soul-crushing. There’s not even a choice—of course there isn’t because there never is with them because just like he told Liam all those months ago they always get what they want. There’s no moment where he weighs his options, tries to come up with a plan, thinks of anything besides getting to Liam and getting him out. That’s all that fills his head now and he stands, numb for a completely different reason now as he follows Twenty-two to the same van he came out of. The same one Zayn beat Six to unconsciousness against. And after shutting the double doors closed on the other operatives sat calmly on the parallel benches in the back, Twenty-two drags Six out of the way unceremoniously so his head doesn’t get run over by the back wheel when they eventually move. Unlocks the door and waits for Zayn to get in the passenger seat before he’s walking back around the front of the van to the right side to get in the driver’s seat.

He starts the car and a moment later Zayn hears the slamming of more doors and a second engine starting up and realizes that must be the last operative. The one he didn’t get to, who, like Twenty-two and also just like Zayn suspected, was probably lying in wait this whole time just in case. He glances over when they pull off, looks past Twenty-two out the driver’s side window to the other van and is almost unsurprised to find Twenty-four in the driver’s seat, her gaze fixed straight ahead with singular focus just like Twenty-two.

There’s no third engine rumble or slamming of doors as the last van stays where it is—the Handler who would’ve been driving it too busy bleeding out on the pavement from the hole Zayn left in his head. Doors probably still sitting open with a back full of more dead-eyed operatives waiting to be carted back to base by the recovery team along with the ones still unconscious left laying across the asphalt like forgotten trash. _He_ did that. _He_ did that to them. And now he’s leaving them behind yet again, the same way he did all this time that they’ve still been trapped in this hell while he moved on without them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos = LOVE so share the love (if you're feeling up to it)!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo how are we enjoying the roller coaster so far lol? are we ready for another loopdy-loop? cause here it comes…

_Liam_

Liam’s just looped around and started in on his jog route back home, taking a sip of water while he waits at a stoplight when there’s a sudden screech behind him. He turns sharply at the noise, assuming it’s just some arsehole with road rage, but can’t pinpoint which car it came from and doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary going on. No one stopped by the side of the road or swerved out in the middle of it cutting anyone off, no one yelling angrily out their car windows like he expected, so he just turns back around. Takes another sip of his water and keeps waiting at the light, which according to the countdown on the street perpendicular to this one, is finally about to turn.

He’s just stepping forward, closer to the curb as he sees the seconds reaching single digits, when he hears someone come up behind him.

“Hey, mate, you wouldn’t happen to have the time, would you?” a man says and Liam glances down at his watch, the one Zayn got him for his birthday, and starts to turn back to the man to read off the time to him when suddenly he feels a sharp prick at his neck and he can’t move.

His arms fall limply to his sides, water bottle slipping right out of his slack fingers to the ground, his whole body going numb and nearly slumping to the ground with it, when arms suddenly loop around his chest and underneath his own arms, catching him.

He hears tires pulling up the gritty street beside him, crunching over loose asphalt and coming to a stop. And then he’s been held up and shuffled around, feet dragging on the ground and his eyes are droopy, just barely open, but he can still make out enough to see a dark van looming before him. Cars pass by in a hazy blur, not one of them stopping or even slowing, and even with his increasingly muddled thoughts Liam knows enough to know how this looks. The way whoever’s holding him easily passed off from afar as just someone helping out an injured or incapacitated friend, arm still wrapped around his middle, and no fight being put up from Liam because he can’t.

He’s lifted into the van through a side door and dropped to the floor unceremoniously and then a black hood is being shoved over his head. It’s not totally dark. He can still see just a little, even with his vision hazy. Make out vague blurry buildings and the light of outside and the faint blue of the sky through the side window. But as each second passes everything starts to go darker, more grey until eventually it’s fading into black and he’s slipping into unconsciousness.

*

When he wakes again he’s being shoved roughly out of the van, stumbling out on weak legs and falling to his knees on the ground, his hands now bound behind his back. Someone barks at him to get up, shoving at the back of his head and Liam stumbles back to his feet as best he can without the use of his arms.

His vision’s still a little hazy but now that he’s conscious he can see through the hood again, just barely, and from what he can tell they look to be in an underground garage, two men flanking him and another’s heavy-booted footsteps behind him. The garage is sparse, mostly empty, but he can just make out a few vague dark shapes scattered around in the distance, more black vans probably.

Oddly enough though he’s not scared. Maybe because the full gravity of the situation hasn’t really hit him yet. Maybe because he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Zayn’s coming for him, for all of them. Or maybe it’s some combination of the two, but whatever the case he feels completely calm as they shove and push him across the garage and into a lift, finally tugging the hood off once they’re inside.

When the lift stops and the doors open again it’s to a long, wide corridor, rows upon rows of doors lining the walls as they pass by. And after a few sidelong glances where Liam catches glimpses of rows of long tables pushed together, chairs lined up neatly behind them, and whiteboards or big white projector screens pulled down against one wall in room after room after room, Liam realizes belatedly that this is a _school_. Not a bunker like he expected. And Zayn had been speculating that they’d switched things up, but this is all kinds of creepy. Way more creepy than a bunker would’ve been.

Liam only barely manages to suppress a shiver as they continue to half push, half guide him down the corridor, barking at him to keep his eyes forward and keep moving. They wind down a few more corridors and then he’s being shoved into a large windowless room full of more people with hoods over their heads. _Kids_ , he realizes a moment later, once he’s been pushed to the carpeted floor with the lot of them and gotten a better look at the ones closest to him. Their small forms huddled and hunched over themselves, some of them shaking, clearly afraid, some letting out soft sounds like they’re crying but trying not to be too loud about it, some of them even lying prone on the floor like they’re not fully conscious yet and _now_ he’s scared. Not for himself but for these kids. For what he already knows awaits them.

“Let them go! Let them go you sick fucks! Let them go! Let them go!” he screams even though he knows it’s useless.

He’s ignored as if he hasn’t even spoken of course even as he continues to shout at them and one of the men, who’d been patrolling the room by the looks of it before Liam had been unceremoniously dumped here, stomps over to the other three that shoved Liam inside. The three that are still standing huddled by the doorway as if surveying all their captives.

“Why the _fuck_ is his hood off?” the man says to them harshly, gesturing to Liam.

One of them, the one who’d grabbed Liam off the street at the start of all this, shrugs. “How the hell were we supposed to know you were keeping them on?”

“So they wouldn’t see our faces you dumb fuck!”

“What does it even matter, we’re wiping them all anyway, aren’t we?”

“Not _that_ one you fucking retard, he’s a _hostage_. We’re just using him to get to the rogue operative!”

Kidnapper Guy shrugs again. “How the fuck were we supposed to know that shit?”

“If you paid any attention in the meetings maybe you’d have a _fucking clue_. Jesus Christ, you just fucked us all, you _idiots_!”

“Whatever, so we’ll just drug him some more,” one of the other kidnappers pipes up. “Pump him full of drugs enough and he won’t remember any of this shit, I reckon.”

“You better fucking hope,” the patroller guy says, shoving through the three of them harshly on his way out the door. “I’m going to get A. You three take over my patrol since clearly it takes three of your fucking idiotic brains just to make one. And shut him up will you, for Christ’s sakes, he’s giving me a fucking migraine with all that screaming.”

One of the guys, the third kidnaper who hasn’t spoken yet, comes forward. Liam sees him grabbing for his gun in the holster at his hip and goes quiet, heart jumping into his throat for a split second before he sees that the man’s only holding the bottom of the handle, his finger nowhere near the trigger. He steps up to Liam with heavy footsteps, Liam realizing this must have been the man that was walking behind him before, but that’s all he has time to think before he’s being butt in the side of the head hard with the bottom of the gun and everything goes black again.

*

When he wakes yet again the room is empty, all traces of the scared children gone.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, head pounding painfully, wishing he could have done more, done something to help, _anything_. But it’s too late. All of them probably well on their way to being forced to go through that godforsaken torture session they call the Procedure.

And what of him? Will they torture him too? Wipe him?

From what that other man said before—one of the Handlers, Liam realizes—it sounded like it wasn’t in the plans for him. But they could always change their minds. Especially know that he’s seen their faces. If they decide more drugs won’t work it’s the obvious option, for them anyway. And even though he knows Zayn will come for him he doesn’t know _when_.

He has no idea how long he’s even been here. How long it took them to _get_ here. Whether it’s been a day or two or three, or only hours, maybe even less than that. For all he knows it _has_ been less than an hour since he was taken and Zayn is still at home, sleeping peacefully in their bed, unaware that Liam’s even missing. Or it’s been days and Zayn’s gonna come bursting in any minute now and kick the shit out of all them. Or he’s already here and is looking for Liam right now.

Maybe that’s why they’ve all gone. Maybe they ran out in a scramble and stashed the kids somewhere on their way to deal with Zayn after he came bursting through the front doors in a rage. Maybe all of the kids are perfectly safe and Zayn is climbing up the stairs to Liam this very moment. Or maybe none of that is happening and Liam is stuck here alone until Zayn realizes what’s happened to him.

But just because he knows Zayn is coming for him doesn’t mean he should sit here helpless, waiting, like some sort of damsel in distress. He’s got to _do_ something, _figure out_ something. A way out.

With the other Handlers gone he’s free to step over his cuffed hands without threat and he does so quickly, immediately setting to work chewing at the zip-ties around his wrists knowing that at any moment any one of them could come waltzing back in here and stop him.

He’s only barely managed to chew through the very edge of the section of plastic binding between his wrists when he’s proved right.

“Smart one, I see,” a voice says and Liam looks up to find a man with a sharp smile standing in the doorway looking down at him. The man steps just inside the door then, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smile turning into a wicked-looking smirk. “They were stupid to leave you alone like this but then again most of the new recruits are stupid. No matter though because I’ve got someone who’s _very_ excited to see you.”

His smirk goes even sharper as he beckons for Liam to stand but Liam doesn’t move. He’s not going out without a fight and regardless of whatever sick person in this disgusting place wants to “see” him he’ll be damned if he goes willingly and just lets it happen.

The man laughs and even that sounds sinister. “Disobedient too, I see. Like your little _boyfriend_.” Except the way that he says the word boyfriend makes it sound more like an insult than a term of endearment. “But then I guess that’s probably what drew you two together in the first place, isn’t it? Like with like and all that. No matter, that’ll all be gone soon. Now come.”

Liam’s heart jumps into his throat again as the man’s words sink in.

 _That’ll all be gone soon_.

They must be planning on wiping him then after all. Or maybe even something equally as bad or worse that Liam can’t even conceive of. His heart is racing now, no idea of what’s to come, the bruise that’s sure to be forming on the right side of his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat, but still he doesn’t move. He knows he’s only delaying the inevitable, that ignoring their demands will only make things harder on him when he’s eventually forced to do what they want. But even if there’s no one else around to see it, even if he’s the only who knows, he refuses to just bend to them like a coward. And maybe it’s just his own stubbornness, or maybe it’s that some of Zayn’s bravery has seeped into him over all these months of them being together, or maybe it’s a bit of both, or maybe it’s something else entirely. But whatever it is it has him steeling himself, rooting himself to the spot and refusing to budge even an inch until he’s forced. That is, until the man’s next words.

“Fine. Stay there if you like,” the man says, shrugging with his arms still crossed, looking down at Liam with the most bored expression like he couldn’t care less about him or this whole conversation which he probably doesn’t. “Just means you won’t get a chance to say goodbye to your precious boyfriend.”

And once again he makes it sound like insult but it doesn’t matter because _that_ has Liam standing before he’s even fully aware of what he’s doing, scrambling to his feet in a rush.

The man smirks again, wicked and sharp, with a derisive little snort. “That’s what I thought. Come on.”

He slips out the door, not even bothering to check whether Liam’s behind him and Liam follows, still keeping a fair amount of distance between them as a precaution. The man leads Liam down a passage to the left, passing by the corridor Liam came down earlier with the other three Handlers, and turning into a doorway that leads to a stairwell. Liam follows him down two flights of stairs to what he realizes must be the main level when he catches a glimpse out of a window and sees they’re level with the ground, a large courtyard full of green grass and perfectly paved pathways stretching out to one side. Little statues and benches and shrubbery spaced evenly apart in the pathways closer to the wall of the school that expand out into a huge field of evenly cut grass.

He’d known just from the amount and size of the rooms before that this was a posh school, or must have been once upon a time, especially considering the fact that it had its own private garage underground. But he certainly hadn’t expected _this_ level of grandeur. The size of just that one side of the yard alone is large enough to fit probably at least six, if not more, of his own flat buildings inside it and that’s just _one_ side, not even including how big the school building itself must be.

Liam follows the man down countless more winding corridors before they finally come to a stop in front of a set of double doors. Two more Handlers appear then, coming around the corner and the next thing Liam knows a black hood is being shoved over his head again.

“Gotta keep things tip top for the big reveal,” Liam hears the man with the sharp smile say. “You understand. After all, it wouldn’t do to ruin the whole element of surprise, now would it?”

Liam feels a gruff hand wrap around his shoulder then, thicker than what he’s pretty sure the sharp-smiled man’s hand would feel like as he’s tugged off to the side, away from where the double doors were. He hears the doors opening off to his left, light footfalls echoing as someone steps inside the room it must lead to, and then the sound of the doors shutting heavily.

The gruff hand is still on his shoulder, holding him in place, and Liam stands there straining to hear _anything_ through the thick wooden doors but there’s nothing. Nothing but the sound of his own breaths and his racing heartbeat echoing in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **so i’ve added the first two scenes to the long-awaited[outtakes/deleted scenes fic for this verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026617/chapters/32305443) (yayyyy!!!!); they won’t be in any particular order but most if not all will prob have a brief note or summary letting you know around what time period it’s from so go check that out if you like!**
> 
> As always comments and kudos are much appreciated so leave them if you feel up to it! :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the rollercoaster continues...

_Zayn_

The van rumbles underneath them as Twenty-two pulls off from the highway, switching from uneven ground to the smoothly paved roads of a posh neighborhood. Big houses and long driveways with expensive cars line the streets as they drive past, Zayn committing everything to memory for when he inevitably makes his escape with Liam. _If_ he does.

He may be good but he has no idea what he’s going into, how many of them he’ll be up against or what kind of facility he’s even heading to because it’s definitely not the bunker. Not with the way they’re going, right into the heart of some uppity posh suburban neighborhood nearly an hour in the opposite direction of where the bunker was.

He’s planned as much as he can on limited knowledge over the silent journey, not a peep from Twenty-two, as expected. He knows he’ll likely at least be going up against the operatives he hadn’t had a chance to fight back in the empty car lots. The ones who are currently sitting stoic in the back of this van and the other one still trailing behind them with Twenty-four at the wheel. Knows there are likely more Handlers, possibly even more of those agents or whatever they’re called there waiting for him although they won’t all be in one place, which could make things easier or harder depending on how everything goes.

On the one hand if they’re scattered all over the facility he could just focus in on the ones that happen to be in the immediate line of fire as soon he gets inside and potentially get Liam and get out before any of the others have a chance to get to them. But if they happen to all be in the way on his way to Liam things might get challenging because it would mean trying to navigate his way through unfamiliar terrain while _also_ fighting off more people than he’s anticipating after everything else he’s already had to face today. Dwelling on all the ways this could go wrong does him no good though. All he can do for now is focus on the tentative plan and save all the worrying about revising it for when he finally gets a better sense of what he’s up against.

After about fifteen minutes of winding through quiet, relatively empty streets they finally pull to a stop in front of a set of large, black cast-iron gates blocking off a long, wide driveway that leads up to what looks to be some sort of mansion at the end of a huge cul-de-sac. After a moment of waiting a woman dressed in the usual Handler get-up comes down the driveway and over to the left side of the gate, looking to be punching in a code. Zayn can hear the faint beeps of each of the numbers on the keypad she’s pressing, each one with their own distinct tone like a phone, and he commits those to memory too as the doors of the gate swing open and they pull inside.

There’s a soft clank behind them as the gate closes again, the van continuing up the long driveway to what Zayn now realizes isn’t a mansion but a school, though a very posh one at that, probably one that used to be private and very exclusive. Which ironically probably isn’t all that different from now. Large expanses of grass and neat pathways stretch out in front of and on both sides of the hulking building. A freshly minted sign—which is precisely what had alerted him to the fact that it wasn’t a mansion as he had initially thought though it still looks very much like one—stands in the middle of the yard to the front of the building. _Brighton Youth Military Academy_ , it reads, though something tells him it didn’t always say that and hasn’t for very long.

Twenty-two pulls to a stop again near the top of the driveway behind two neat rows of three more black vans each, putting the van in park and getting out without a word. Zayn follows suit, watching him open the back doors to let the other operatives out, the lot of them filing out in their neat little lines. The woman who opened the gate for them comes walking back up the drive then to guide the other operatives inside, bypassing the main doors at the front of the building and taking them over to what Zayn’s guessing must be a side door to the left instead. As she goes, operatives obediently trailing behind her, she sends off a quick message over her comms to someone inside that “operative Twenty-two has arrived with the rogue operative.”

A moment later Twenty-two gets that far away look in his eyes again as he receives another message on his own comms and then he’s leading Zayn up to the front doors. They step inside, ambling down a long corridor and then through more doors into what looks like a large foyer but has clearly been repurposed as the school’s main hall, or more likely for the program’s purposes, a room for sparring sessions and large gatherings for announcements.

There’s a set of doors at every wall and suddenly the set off to the left side swing open, a man with a sharp smile waltzing in. Once inside he immediately dismisses Twenty-two, who continues on to the back of the room, exiting through another set of double doors there, so that it’s just Zayn and the man standing alone on opposite sides of the large space.

“Welcome,” the man says, smile going ever sharper as he speaks. “You’ve been quite the elusive one to catch, haven’t you? I’d say it’s a pleasure to finally meet you but we both know that’d be a lie. No point in wasting our time with fake pleasantries anyway so I’ll get to right to point. Here’s how this is going to go. You, my ever evasive little rogue operative, are going to cooperate with us.”

“Not a fucking chance,” Zayn spits spanning the distance between them easily in a blink and going to grab for the man’s gun.

But just before he can reach it the man yells, “Doors!”

The same double doors the man came through bang open, two bulky Handlers flanking another man with a hood over his face and his arms bound behind his back, gun pressed to his head. Except that it’s not just any man because Zayn would recognize that form anywhere. Those broad shoulders and chiseled arms and thin legs, still clad in the same joggers and fitted long-sleeve workout shirt he left in early this morning and Zayn hesitates. Hand hovering inches from the man’s hip he stares, pulse pounding in his ears knowing that despite how quick he might be he’d never be able to take them all out in time before the Handler with the gun to Liam’s head pulled the trigger.

The first man darts away from Zayn quickly, taking advantage of his hesitation to scurry over to where the others are and rip the hood from over Liam’s head and Liam locks eyes with him immediately, Zayn’s heart clenching at the purple bruise blossoming on Liam’s right temple where there’s no gun to block his view.

“ _Zayn_ —” Liam calls, eyes wide, but he doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before the gun is being pressed more firmly against his left temple in warning, the Handler holding it muttering a gruff shut up.

“ _He’s_ why you’re going to cooperate,” the man says, smiling sharply again as he inclines his head in Liam’s direction. “Because if you don’t, he pays the price. And it certainly won’t be anything as quick or merciful as a bullet to the head. He’s already in quite good shape, no need to build from scratch when you’ve already got the bare bones, not to mention he’s proved himself to be an interesting one and I’d be curious to know how he fairs through the Procedure. It’s a bit of a tricky dilemma though cause while he’d make for a good operative the odds wouldn’t be in his favor.

“It’s worse, you know, the older you are when you first do it,” the man continues, smirk morphing into an outright cruel smile now. “S’why they take you guys so young. Kids’ brains they’re so much more…what’s the word? Malleable? The others, they don’t know this, they’re still too new. But me? I’ve been around since the first trial run, back when they were still figuring their shit out, you know? Older test subjects they didn’t fair too well, wound up messed up in the head, or…brain dead vegetables, if they even made it through it at all.” He shrugs nonchalantly like he’s talking about the weather, furrows his brows like he’s musing over something. “Never tried it on someone as old as him though. I wonder do you think he’d make it? I reckon he might. He’s a sturdy one, relatively healthy, and like I said, in prime physical shape. Might come out scrambled as an egg but I bet he’d put on a hell of a show while he’s under. I do love watching you all squirm. S’like maggots squirming away from the light. So _entertaining_.” He flashes Zayn a wicked grin, like he’s sharing some conspiratorial joke and Zayn wants to rip his throat out.

Would were it not for the gun aimed at Liam’s head holding him back.

Zayn’s fingers flex on reflex, catching the man’s eye, and he drops his gaze down to Zayn’s hand briefly before his eyes flit back up to Zayn’s face and he smirks again.

“So? What’s it going to be?”

Zayn swallows, looks to Liam who he can see is pleading with his eyes for Zayn to say refuse the man, to _fight_. But he _can’t_. Not with this much at stake, not with Liam’s _life_ at stake. And knowing this man and how sadistic he’s already proved himself to be in the five minutes Zayn’s known him he’d probably go through with it too if he didn’t shoot Liam first. Probably even make Zayn watch just for the hell of it while everything and everyone Liam ever knew and loved was burned right out of his head, ripped from him while he lay helpless and defenseless strapped to a cold operating table in excruciating pain.

He can’t—he _won’t_ let it happen. Not to Liam.

“Let him go,” he says softly, just barely above a whisper.

“What was that?” the man says, leaning forward in a show of feigned ignorance.

“Let him go,” Zayn repeats a little louder.

“No!” Liam shouts, struggling and fighting against the Handlers’ firm grips around him. “ _No_! Zayn—”

“Shut _up_!” the Handler with the gun says again, cocking the hammer.

Zayn looks Liam right in the eyes hoping his silent message is clear. _Trust me_. _Please, trust me_.

He already made it out of this once, there’s a chance he can make it out again even if it is small, but Liam. Liam wouldn’t make it. Not if what the man said earlier is true and even if he did what life would he be living, brain dead and confined to a hospital bed for the rest of the life? Zayn _won’t_ be responsible for that and he sure as hell won’t be the one to put Liam through it, to have that awful pain be his last, or only, remaining memory.

Liam’s stopped screaming but he’s still fighting against the Handlers’ hold, helpless as he watches Zayn surrender himself. Zayn drops his clenched hands, stepping back and ducking his head to show he’s no longer a threat and the man waves a hand at the two Handlers dismissively. The other one, the one not holding the gun to Liam’s head, shoves the black hood from before back over Liam’s face and pulls a capped syringe from his pocket, ripping the cap off and injecting Liam in the neck with whatever’s inside. Liam goes limp as a ragdoll in their arms a moment later, all of the fight leaving him at once, body sagging as they barely even try to hold him up.

“Get him out of here,” the man says to them with a bored tone. “Leave him by that bus stop on Fifth, no one’ll pay attention to him there, probably just think he’s homeless or hungover or something…”

Both men give sharp nods as they tug Liam’s limp body back out through the doors they came in, his hooded head drooped, feet dragging uselessly against the ground and Zayn wants to rip him from their arms and slit their throats for treating him like a piece of rubbish. Wants to just grab him and run. Run out of these doors, out of this _place_ , and shoot down anyone who gets in their way. But he can’t. Because the second he tries to make a move they could shoot Liam where he stands and Zayn wouldn’t be fast enough to stop them. And if by some chance they didn’t shoot to kill, he’d be dooming Liam to an even worse fate.

So instead he just watches helplessly as Liam’s dragged through the open doors out into the corridor, disappearing from his view.

 _Liam’s gonna be okay_ , Zayn tells himself, _he’s gonna be okay_. Repeats it until he believes it. _Has_ to believe it because now that they have what they wanted they’ve got no reason to keep Liam hostage anymore. And there’s no point in killing him now only to have to deal with an unnecessary body. It’d be inefficient and a waste of time and resources, which they’re clearly low on if they were willing to resort to tactics this low and desperate, not to mention all the other signs from before that make it glaringly obvious. If they’d really wanted to do it they would’ve just gone ahead and done it in front of him, no need for false pretenses. Which means he likely really will just be dropped by a bus stop like the man said.

Now that Liam’s safe he just has focus on getting himself out. But no way is he just gonna tuck tail and run without making them pay. His options are shitty and limited, he knows that. And there’s a very high chance he won’t be able to make it out of here unscathed, or at all, but he’ll be damned if he’s going down without a fight because he has to _try_. He has to get back to Liam. To his family, his friends. Hopefully even reunite some of the other operatives with theirs. And if by some miracle he does manage to make it out they can be sure he’s taking the whole thing down with him.

An hour. He just needs an hour. Enough time to be sure—or as sure as he can be anyway—that Liam’s been dropped off safe and sound and then he can make his move.

Except that it’s looking like he might not get even that.

He follows the man—who he’s been told, rather ironically, is also called Handler A— down corridor after corridor. And it’s odd because in any other circumstance he would’ve just assumed this was the old Handler A’s replacement. But the man had said he’d been around since the very beginning of the program and Zayn doesn’t remember them ever having multiple Handlers by the same designation, though he supposes he doesn’t know _everything_ and for all he knows there could’ve been and he just never had the opportunity to interact with any of them before. Unless it’s some sort of situation where he was promoted, or possibly even demoted, from another position.

That’s not his main concern right now though. His main concern is plotting his next move because he still has fifty-two minutes before he can be relatively sure of Liam’s safety and he has no idea where Handler A 2.0 is leading him or what’s going to happen next. And a lot can happen in fifty-two minutes. He can’t risk making his move yet though because all it would take was one comm call and Liam could be dead in seconds, or they could end up turning right around and bringing him right back here to be wiped. So he’s biding his time for now but that doesn’t mean he’s any less on edge.

Handler A finally leads him into a room at the end of yet another long corridor and Zayn is somehow surprised and simultaneously not at all surprised to find the room full of Handlers. Nine in all—not including Handler A—which is two more than he would have expected considering there’s generally only two Handlers to a team each and four teams of operatives in all to the base. Or at least there were, but evidently they’re going about things a bit differently now.

Handler A beckons him to the wooden chair in the middle of the room where one of the other Handlers stands behind it with a set of barber’s clippers in his hand, waiting. The others are all stationed around the room, guns at the ready as if they expect him to grab the clippers and attack them all with them. Which, to be fair, he probably would if not for Liam. But as it is he just goes where he’s told. Sits in the wobbly chair, the buzz of the clippers starting up over his head, and then watches resolutely as long wisps of his own hair fall to the ground below him.

The Handler is intentionally rough, scraping at his head and jaw with the clippers although he doesn’t mind that, had expected it even the moment he sat down. But _this_ , seeing these parts of himself that represent everything he’s become, all the ways he’s grown and changed into something better over these past two years just falling to the ground. Gone. Like all of it meant nothing. It feels like watching the layers of his own skin being ripped off, flung away like meaningless rubbish, revealing the empty shell of himself underneath once again.

But he won’t cry in front of them. He won’t shed a tear because that would mean they won and he won’t let them win. He won’t let them have the satisfaction of knowing how much they broke him yet again. So he stares resolutely at the floor until it’s done and then stands when he’s told. Follows Handler A back out the door and down another series of corridors feeling like he’s leaving half of himself behind, raw and exposed like an open wound.

Thirty-six minutes remaining. Thirty-six minutes until Liam’s safe again and he can get himself out of this hellhole and back to Liam. Back to their flat, back to their _bed_ , where he’s safe and loved and nothing bad can touch him except in his dreams. He just has to make it a little while longer.

This time Handler A leads him to a large windowless room adorned with carpet instead of the polished wood floors like the rest of the building and completely empty but for a stack of folded clothes sitting by the door, which Handler A hands to him before shutting him inside.

There’s nothing for him to do but change. Nothing in the room that he could take to use as a weapon even if he wanted to, no means of escape except the one door. Not that he’s planning on escaping at the moment anyway with so much time still left before he can.

He looks down at the clothes in his hands, standard operative black, with a pair of thick black military boots on top and sets them down to remove his own clothes, resigned. Peels off Liam’s dark blue hoodie that he knows he won’t get back along with his own white v-neck t-shirt and jeans, gifts from his family his first birthday back. Folds and stacks them neatly in the corner the way he knows they’ll want them and then pulls on the black cargo pants and long sleeve black t-shirt, tucking the hem in and doing up the belt. Slips off his red converses—only just now starting to get worn around the edges, something he’d been oddly excited about because it made him feel like he’d _lived_ , almost like a regular person—and sits them next to his clothes, replacing them with the pristine black military boots.

When he’s done he gives two quick raps on the door, unsure how else to alert Handler A that he’s finished since he usually wasn’t afforded this kind of privacy before.

The door opens slowly like Handler A’s still slightly wary of what might greet him on the other side, not that it would matter how quickly or slowly he opened the door if Zayn really were planning to attack him right now. But as it is he still has twenty-eight minutes remaining before he can do anything safely.

More corridors, more stairwells, and then another room. This one full of computers and Zayn knows this routine. Goes straight to the computer monitor closest to the scanner without even being ordered when he spots it sitting at the end of a long table of computers. Sticks his right arm out underneath it listening for the inevitable beep and then waits as the man sitting at the computer there types, pulling up whatever they have on him. Which he’s guessing can’t be much considering how ill-prepared they were before. The man does a bit more typing, probably putting in whatever he needs to, to check Zayn in or whatever and then Zayn’s being beckoned back out.

Again more corridors, more stairwells, and yet another room where a Doctor’s waiting, a lower one judging by his bumbling nature though it could also be that he’s all they’ve got now. He weighs and measures Zayn, checks him over for injuries—of which there’s quite a few from his fight with Twenty-two but nothing major—makes a few notes in his chart, and then goes over to the computer to enter his notes into the system, Zayn following him for another scan under the machine to the left of the computer.

Back out, more corridors, more stairwells, and still sixteen minutes before he can safely make a move. Thirteen by the time they make it to their next stop.

Zayn’s at a loss as to what else they could possibly need him to do now that he’s been checked in, checked over, and is back to the standard operative uniform and look.

Until he follows Handler A through a series of interconnected rooms and his stomach drops.

Of course. He should have known.

They wouldn’t have ever just let him come back in not knowing whether he could be trusted not to turn on them at any moment. But he’d been naïve enough to let himself think that they wouldn’t risk this with him. Not after all they’d done, all they’d sacrificed just to get him back. Not after what Handler A had said earlier about older subjects and survival rates. But then again he supposes, unlike Liam, his brain’s used to the trauma. Endured it over and over again every single year for over a decade, though he’s sure this will be a lot more rigorous, more like the first one, given all that they’ll have to erase again. Now that he’s no longer as empty as he was before. And that’s what worries him.

Because his brain may be used to the trauma to some degree, but it hasn’t had to endure what’s sure to be a much higher level of it since he was a child.

“Don’t worry,” Handler A says with that cruel smirk of his, seeming to know exactly what Zayn’s thinking. “The Doctors calculated the risks and you’ll most likely be good as new after. Of course if you aren’t, one less problem for us. Though the new Director won’t be too happy since it would probably only make him look even more incompetent than he already is but he’ll get over it. He’s the one who sanctioned this after all, so if you come out a vegetable it’s his arse on the line, not mine. But either way I get a good show out of it, so it’s a win-win for me.”

Zayn doesn’t bother dignifying any of that with a response, ignores him as if he hasn’t even spoken knowing he’s only telling Zayn all of this because he knows Zayn won’t remember it when he wakes up. _If_ he wakes up.

And there’s nothing he can do to buy time because even though there’s still ten minutes left, the room they just walked through to get to this one is yet again full of Handlers. And all it would take is just one of them getting a message out before Zayn managed to neutralize them all and Liam would be gone without a second thought.

He has to do this. He has to do it for Liam.

It’s the only way to think of it so that it doesn’t seem so bad. If he does this he’s guaranteeing Liam’s safety. For now anyway. And there’s still a chance he’ll remember, however small. Because none of this is guaranteed. He’ll be the first one to have gone through this twice and the Doctors can calculate all they want but they can’t be one hundred percent sure of what’s going to happen.

Maybe he won’t make it. Or maybe he will. Maybe it’ll work exactly like it’s supposed to. Or. Maybe it won’t.

Because this time he’s stronger, this time he’s ready. This time he knows exactly what he’s fighting, knows what he’s fighting _for_. For Liam, for himself, for love.

And it might be dumb and cliché but that’s what he repeats to himself like a mantra as he gets undressed, ignoring Handler A’s wolfish whistle.

_For Liam, for himself, for love._

And as he drags himself up onto the table.

_For Liam, for himself, for love._

And as the door shuts closed behind Handler A.

_For Liam, for himself, for love._

And as Handler A’s face appears along with the Doctor’s from before in the little window panel on the left wall.

_For Liam, for himself, for love._

And as another Doctor comes in to strap him to the table, turn all the necessary dials and knobs and press all the right keys.

_For Liam, for himself, for love._

And as the door shuts behind him too and his face appears next to the others’ in the little window panel to watch.

_For Liam, for himself, for love._

And as the machine starts up and his chest starts to heave uncontrollably, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat as the loud whirring and humming echoes in his ears.

_For Liam, for himself, for love._

_Liam. Liam. Liam._

_Don’t forget Liam._

_Don’t._

_Forget._

_Liam._

*

Pain.

This is all he knows.

He does not know how or why it is happening or how long it lasts though he knows that it seems a great deal of time. Yet there is no escape.

He struggles to break from free from the pain but he is bound. By what, he does not know either.

The pain is great. And it only grows stronger, screams ripped from his throat, echoing in his hears alongside the loud hum of something above him. Some sort of machine. Is this what is causing the pain? He does not know. He does not know anything.

The pain climbs and climbs and climbs until it seems that it will never cease to grow ever stronger. More of his own screams follow, forced from him involuntarily, though they seem to fade farther and farther away the more intense the pain grows, as if they are coming from someone or somewhere else. And then suddenly the pain is gone and for a long moment there is nothing.

Everything is blank. He is blank. Suspended in nothingness. No thought. No physical feeling. Simply blankness. A dark void filled with nothing. And then.

 _Liam_.

This is his first thought upon fully waking. He does not know what it means. Only that it is important. And he must not forget it.

The blank nothingness fades, morphing into a thick fog that he must push with great effort to get through, though to where it leads he does not know. Until the fog finally clears and he gasps awake with a start, sitting up and taking in his surroundings.

He is in a small room on a metal table, a strange machine looming above him. There is something…familiar about the room, or the way it looks. And yet he has no memory of ever being anywhere but this before. Has no memory of anything.

There was pain and then there was nothingness. Empty. Black. And now this.

He is nothing. He knows nothing.

Except.

Except Liam.

That is important somehow. Though he does not know why. Cannot remember anything else that would alert him as to the meaning of it or why it is so important.

Liam.

What does it mean?

But no sooner has he borne the thought than there is a sudden sharp pain in the center of his skull. The same place there was pain before. Before the nothingness. When he was bound and it seemed as if the pain would never cease. He does not have even a moment to spare however on how or when he was unbound as the sharp pain in the center of his skull takes hold.

His eyes shut on reflex as he makes an involuntary sound in response to the pain and behind his closed eyelids flashes an image.

Eyes. The eyes of a boy. Brown. Framed with short dark lashes.

Another pang. Another image. This one of a man. The same eyes, same dark lashes. And then a whole face. A smile. Eyes crinkling at the corners.

 _Liam_ , something within him screams and it is almost as painful as the previous pang.

A door opens and he turns to find a man standing there. Stands himself, limbs moving to pull himself to his feet as if it is automatic as he steps down from the metal table.

“Do you know your designation, operative?” The man smiles and it is sharp, angular.

“No.”

“No, _sir_.”

“No, sir,” he repeats and the man’s smile goes sharper.

“Twelve. Your designation is Twelve.”

 _No_ _!_ the voice within him screams again and he hunches over in pain, hands pressed to his head. _Zayn_. _You are Zayn_.

A flurry of images races behind his eyelids then. A face in a mirror. A reflection staring back at him that he somehow knows is his own even without ever having seen his own reflection. The man again, with the brown eyes and the crinkled smile.

 _Zayn, Liam_ , the voice says, a thundering boom that echoes inside his skull, unbearably loud. Painfully so. And then more faces. Girls. Smiling girls. Long dark hair flowing over their shoulders. And then a man and a woman, smiling too. All with features similar to his.

Then blue eyes and green and more brown. Dark curly hair—shoulder length and loosely curled, and then thicker and longer and tightly coiled—and then spiky blonde and then sandy brown—first short and wavy, then straight and fine.

A room. A small kitchen. A couch and television. A bed. Soft and warm, big enough for two.

Laughter. His own and someone else’s. The man’s. The man with the brown eyes.

 _Liam_ , the voice shouts again. _Remember Liam_.

Yes, that was what was important. Remember Liam. _Remember_ _Liam_. Remember _himself_.

More images—a flood.

Laughter and hugs and warm mugs of tea.

A first kiss. Or rather, a second.

Soft, worn sheets. Warm skin.

Overcast evenings on a couch, or splayed out on soft carpet. Surrounded by people and food and drinks, smiling faces and bright colors and soft sounds from a television. Sensations he does not have names for—not physical but something else.

Sounds, so many sounds. Loud voices and soft ones. Deep, and then high.

Soft touches, kind faces. Arms and hands and shoulders on his, through his, against his. Walks in warm sun and wide spaces full of trees. Frail shoulders to lean on and cry on, and sturdier ones too.

Harry. Louis. Niall. Sarah.

Safaa. Waliyah. Doniya. Mum. Dad.

Liam.

The names come to him not in a separate voice any longer, they are simply there.

Zayn. He is _Zayn_.

Not Twelve. _Zayn_.

And he is here for one reason only. To burn this place to the ground.

“Something wrong, operative?”

“No.”

“No, _sir_.”

“No, sir.”

A sharp nod, an even sharper smile and then, “Come. It’s time for your Re-indoctrination.”

*

Zayn follows Handler A 2.0 diligently down the corridor to a classroom that he can see, upon a glance inside, has clearly become one of the new Indoctrination Rooms. The Handler standing guard there, readies his gun on instinct when he sees Handler A coming down the corridor with Zayn in tow but Handler A just waves a hand dismissively.

“It’s fine, he’s just been through Reintegration. Good as new now, aren’t we, operative?” he says, turning to Zayn with that cruel smile.

“I do not understand the question,” Zayn replies, affecting a monotone voice and blank expression.

That’s all the confirmation they need before Zayn’s being ushered into the room and he sits patiently through the haze of images and words they play on the projector. Watches on with feigned attention as the large screen blinks and flits continuously from one thing to the next. Messages and images about duty and protocol and an operative’s place, reminders of his designation, footage of operative sparring sessions from years past, and pictures and affirmations of the New Director.

He goes through the motions of their tests of his muscle memory and reflexes and fighting skills, making sure all of his faculties are still in order. Does what he knows they expect of him in response to code words and questions and orders. While all the while he plans and schemes and waits.

Waits for the right moment to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Added some[roughly traced sketches](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/172180805208) to my [twelve fic tag](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/twelve-fic) if anyone’s interested. Had them sitting around the house for literally like going on two years now (since like august or september 2016 or so I think) cause I was too embarrassed to post them but they’ve sat around for so long that now I kind of just don’t care as much anymore lol, plus I figured it’d be nice for you to guys to actually see how I imagine Liam’s apartment so yeah check that out if you want :) **
> 
> As always Comments and Kudos = LOVE (so leave em if you feel up to it!)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how we doing y'all? are we ready to continue with the ride or are we still feeling too nauseous from the last loopdy-loop and wanna get off lol? too bad cause this ride don't stop ("can't stop, won't stop" lmao)! here we go again...

_Liam_

Liam wakes up on a bus stop bench feeling like he has the worst hangover known to man. His mouth feels like cotton, his head is pounding, and it takes him a few moments to fully come to and remember what happened and how he even ended up here.

And then it all comes rushing back, in hazy images and sounds. Being grabbed and drugged and shoved into a van, waking up in darkness and then carted into a school building. The soft cries of innocent children, his own screams and protests, the butt of a gun slamming into his head. Frantic heartbeat in his ears as he ambled through long corridors and down seemingly endless sets of stairs, more darkness, and then. _Zayn_. More of his own screams as he’d yelled and fought futilely against the men holding him back. The _Handlers_. Their faces are still hazy in his mind as he realizes they must have pumped him with even more drugs than before to try and make him forget true to their word, but Zayn’s is starkly clear.

The resignation on his face as he’d locked eyes with Liam. The pleading look in his eyes as he silently begged Liam for _something_. To stop fighting? To just let it happen? To never forget him? To come back for him? Liam doesn’t know. Couldn’t be sure. Just knew that whatever it was Zayn was desperate for him to see it, to _receive_ it. And then there was nothing but more darkness and him waking up here. Clothes damp from what must have been rain, the still wet ground below him glistening in the light of early morning, telling him the rain must not have stopped too long ago, was maybe even what led him to come to again in the first place.

There’s a weight in his pocket where there hadn’t been before and Liam realizes they must have given him his valuables back that they took from him while he was there. He can just make out the bulge of the edge of his phone and his headphones protruding from his pocket in the faint grey light of dawn, the glint of his watch back on his wrist and the sight of it makes his chest give a pang because it only makes him think of Zayn. Zayn who’s still trapped back there in that awful place. Had traded himself— _sacrificed_ himself—for Liam’s freedom.

Liam tugs his phone free, ripping his headphones away and stuffing them back down into the depths of his pocket as he turns it on, thankful that of all things the sick arseholes had the decency to turn it off so it’s not dead by now. Though their reasoning was probably more so to make sure no one could get calls through to him or track his location than preserving his phone battery. Once it’s on though he dials the first number that comes up in his list of recent calls right after Zayn and his mum.

“’Lo?” Louis says in greeting, voice groggy with sleep, and then, more alert once he hears Liam’s voice, “ _Liam_ , Christ, we’ve been worried sick, where are you? Are you alright? Zayn was having a fucking fit and then he just stopped replying to any of our messages or calls and when we stormed your flat it was empty and we were up half the night here sitting around waiting for you both to come back. What the fuck happened?”

Liam rushes through an explanation, stumbling over his words and details and not even really caring because the details don’t matter so much as Louis getting here and getting them all together so they can figure out a plan to get Zayn the fuck out of that place.

He can hear Louis mumbling a “stay here, I’ll explain later” to the others in the background, ignoring the cacophony of questions being shouted at him and at Liam too through the phone as Liam stumbles through his relay of events. And then there’s the sound of a car engine starting in the background and Louis yelling at someone to “fucking _move_ arsehole some of us have fucking emergencies!”

By the time Liam’s finished his recount, not only of everything that went down yesterday but what’s been happening over the last few months that he and Zayn have kept from them all, Louis’ muttering that he’s already halfway there. Probably speeding through traffic and running every red light, which Liam would normally chastise him for, but right now he doesn’t much care. It’s not long before Louis’ screeching to a halt in front of him, hair a mess and coat buttoned up in half the wrong holes. Liam jumps in and then they’re making a sharp u-turn and careening back down the street, Louis honking and swerving almost the entire way.

Liam rings Harry from Louis’s phone and lets Louis re-explain all the gritty details as they fly down the street while Liam tries in vain to start brainstorming and thinking of anything they can do get Zayn out of there without getting caught themselves in the process.

The others are already outside waiting for them when they pull up, the three of them looking disheveled in their sleep-rumpled clothes and messy hair, and Liam jumps out while Louis goes around back to park, the others all clambering around Liam in a mix of questions and hugs and “thank god you’re okay’s.” And then they’re all heading back upstairs to his flat, taking the steps two at a time and piling through the door. Blankets and pillows are thrown haphazardly around the living room floor, coffee table pushed to the side and half empty packets of crisps and soda cans littering the room, making it clear they really did wait up for him and Zayn and fell asleep here.

Liam waits till Louis’ joined them again a few moments later before he finally starts to rattle off answers to all their questions, all the ones he can remember anyway since there were kind of a lot being shouted at him at once. And then he moves on to explaining what he’s come up with so far as far as formulating a plan, which, to be honest, isn’t much but he’s hoping that with all their combined areas of expertise they can help with that.

“…whatever they dosed me with seems like it takes a little while to fully kick in,” Liam explains. “I lost all my strength to fight but both times on the way there and back I was still awake for the first couple of minutes after they drugged me and the hood they put over my head isn’t as restricting as they think. It’s like Zayn said, they’re getting sloppy. I would’ve expected better—not that I’m at all complaining cause it means we might actually have a chance at finding him and getting him out of there, but anyway I could kind of see through the hood out the van windows. Not much, but enough. On the drive back out, just before I blacked out, I saw us pass by this house with a for sale sign. Janice Holmes from…I think it was…Morris? Morris and Holmes Realtor Company? And the building they had us in, I’m pretty sure it was a school of some sort. D’you think you’d be able to do a search based on that, Lou? Like, maybe find a list of all the houses for sale by this Janice Holmes woman and see if any of them are near any schools?”

Louis nods, half distracted as he types on Liam’s computer which Liam didn’t even see him get out, unless it was already out here from before. “Already on it.”

“Some of the patients I’ve worked with have talked about stuff like sting operations,” Sarah says. “Maybe we could, like, rent a van or something and surveil them. Find out what their set-up and stuff is like so we’re not just going in blind and figure out what part of the building they might be keeping him in if we can, and what would be the best time and way to get in and get out without getting caught.”

“What about blowing the lid on this whole thing? Wouldn’t that be a surefire way to end all this once and for all? I’ve got contacts who freelance with some of the papers and news stations. I’m sure I could get some of them to agree to leak this stuff,” Harry says.

“Maybe after,” Liam says. “After he’s out and safe. We’ve gotta be careful about this. We can’t let them make us, or blow the lid on any of it too early, otherwise they could just—” he stops short of what he’s about to say, can’t make himself finish to say the words _kill him_ because even the thought hurts too much, but Niall finishes for him.

“No, Liam’s right. There’s no telling what they’d do in a panic to cover their arses and hide the evidence. Zayn wouldn’t be safe. Not that he’s really safe _now_ , but at least we can rest assured for now that they’d likely want to keep him alive after everything they did just to get him back. If we leak this too early and they start feeling threatened they might tuck tail and run and we might never be able find him again, or—or worse.”

Niall doesn’t explain what he means by worse but the sentiment is clear all the same and it hangs in the air like an ominous cloud until Louis finally breaks the silence.

“If we, um…if we can get close enough for me to get a good hook on their IP address I might be able hack their servers. No promises cause I’m sure they’ve probably got some high security encoded shit, but if I can get in I might be able to get access to building schematics to help us along the way, maybe even program records depending on how deep I can get, put all their shit out there for everyone to see after we’ve got him out safe so we can shut the fuckers down for good.”

There’s a charge in the air as they all look around at each other, a silent agreement being made.

“Alright, then, I guess it’s settled,” Louis says with a sharp nod. “Get Zayn out, fuck all their shit up and watch it burn.”

*

“Found it!” Louis calls triumphantly just under a half hour later. “It’s some posh private school…or it used to be. Apparently the school closed down about a year and a half ago under some super shady circumstances. Something about a string of scandals and subsequent loss of funding. No details on what actually went down but since it was private property it was repossessed from the main owners by the bank and then bought out by some independent contracting company, cause _that’s_ not suspicious at all, spent a few months under construction for ‘minor building repairs,’ aka all the creepy torture devices and special shit they probably needed to add, and then about eight months ago it was officially re-opened as Brighton Youth Military Academy. Which sounds like pretty much the perfect fucking cover for why you’ve got a bunch robotic-looking, dead-eyed kids marching around the campus if and when someone were to come sniffing around asking questions.”

“And the van?” Niall says.

“Rented under the name Kevin Paloma III* with a fake online profile and company website already set up and everything. Just need surveillance equipment that’s not too expensive and relatively low-key.”

“Gotcha covered.”

Louis turns to Niall with an eyebrow raised.

Niall shrugs. “I may have…bought some stuff to spy on people in the break room over at the pub for those first few weeks before we opened. Zayn made me a bit paranoid, okay? I can’t be blamed. And anyway it ended up coming in handy, didn’t it, cause now we don’t have to go out and buy a bunch of stuff.”

“Yeah, fair point,” Louis says turning back to Liam’s laptop. “Van’ll be available for pick-up in a few hours so I’ll probably go out in a bit to make a paint run and then drop back by here so one of you guys can come with me to drive my car back.”

“Paint run?” Liam repeats, brows furrowed, noting equal looks of confusion mirrored on Sarah, Harry, and Niall’s faces.

“Yeah, you know, to paint on the fake logo of the company I just made up so we don’t look so suspicious driving up to this posh neighborhood in an old, unmarked van,” Louis says like it’s obvious and Liam hadn’t thought of that but it actually makes a lot of sense.

“I’ll go with you,” Liam says, desperate for any reason to get out of this flat where everything reminds him of Zayn and the fact that he’s not here and not safe and possibly enduring any and all manners of torture as they speak. Possibly not even _Zayn_ anymore and the sudden thought makes his whole chest ache with a barely held back sob, throat fluttering and eyes watering with unshed tears. But he just swallows the sound back down before it can escape, blinks the tears away before they can threaten to fall, takes a breath and pushes the treacherous thought to the back of his mind. This isn’t the time. Right now he needs to be strong for Zayn, or whoever he may be now. 

For all Liam knows that might still _be_ Zayn. Liam has no way of knowing. And there’s no use freaking out over what he does or doesn’t know or what might or might not have happened. It doesn’t change anything and it certainly doesn’t help anything. The best thing he can do for Zayn now is to stay focused on what they need to do to get him out.

“Me and Sarah and Haz can go down to the pub for the surveillance stuff while you’re out, and then we can all meet up down there,” Niall says, “that way we can start getting the van all set up as soon as you’re back and we could even do everything in the car park around back so there’s less chance of people seeing us.”

“I like the way you think, Nialler,” Louis says, shutting Liam’s laptop closed and grinning mischievously.

*

The paint run doesn’t take very long but it does take a bit to get the logo printed out and blown up enough that they can take it to get a stencil made out of it. Which helps them kill a bit of time while they’re waiting for the van to be ready for pick-up.

True to their word Niall, Sarah, and Harry are already waiting in the car park around back at The Craic when he and Louis arrive, Liam trailing behind the van in Louis’ car. The whole set-up takes them the better part of the rest of the day, all of them covered in paint by the end, and not all of it by accident. They run into a brief hiccup when it comes to setting up the bit of space in back that Louis will need for his monitors and keyboard. But Niall saves the day again when he digs around the back offices of the pub for some power tools still laying around from when they were first getting the bottom half of the pub set up, along with a little side table in his office he rarely uses and an extra bar stool. They cut the bottom half of the legs off both the little metal stool and table and drill them to the floor, Louis planning to bring in some wall mounts and some old monitors his office had been looking to recycle to finish setting up his station with the next day.

In the morning when both Liam and Louis have called out sick with the flu, Sarah taking off a string of unused vacation days, and Niall putting Kevin in charge of things with The Craic they all meet back up in the pub car park. It’s a team effort to finish helping Louis set up the monitors and get everything connected properly with the surveillance equipment. But once they’re finally done they all sprawl out on the floor of the van in a pile, sweaty limbs half on top of each other.

“Zayn better appreciate all the work we put into this shit,” Louis mutters which gets them all laughing, half out of actual humor, half out of exhaustion and a much needed release for the tension they’ve all been trying to bury by pouring themselves into this mountain of a project.

After a brief respite though where they all rest a bit and then dig into helpings of Kevin’s crack burgers and chips, noon rolls around and they’re taking off for their first official day of recon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *if you’re an OG fan and you know what paloma means you’ll get the joke lol *wink wink* (and if you don’t, don’t worry, just know it’s not the same Kevin that makes the crack burgers lol)
> 
> **[more drawings if anyone's interested](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/my-rendering-of-liam%E2%80%99s-apartment) \- twelve/zaynie on the roof of the abandoned building and an aerial view of liam's whole apartment - majorly fucked up the spacing of the living room/couch so just pretend that the couch is further back and the living room a bit more spaced out than it is in the drawing lol and also didn’t have an aerial view of the kitchen pic i traced from before so just use your imagination to insert that in there too...also also zayn should've been closer to the middle in the roof pic since liam's not even in the end apartment lol i’m a hot mess but hope you still enjoy the pics anyway**


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the rollercoaster continues! (you might wanna tuck your hands and feet in and hold on tight for this one cause it gets wild just fyi lol)
> 
> [also just in case anyone missed it in the end notes before since maybe not everyone reads those - [here's a peek into liam's apartment](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/tagged/my-rendering-of-liam%E2%80%99s-apartment)]

_Zayn_

Zayn ends up bunked with Twenty-two—who sleeps in the bunk above him because apparently they do bunk beds now—and a bunch of other operatives, only about half of whom he recognizes from Alpha and Beta Team. It’s odd to him that they would group the two teams all together like this after always having kept them separate before back in the bunker, but it’s obvious things are different now. Not running as smoothly or efficiently as they used to, which is good for him in the long run. Less cohesion means an easier chance of escape. Once he figures out a little better how things go around here, that is.

Most of it’s the same so far from what he can tell, same protocols and procedures, some of the same faces, although there’s also a lot of new ones too. New operatives, new Handlers, new personnel. Or maybe not new since from the look of things even most of the unfamiliar operatives in his new cohort have been around for a while, have the same scars and faded tattoos that make it clear they’re as much veterans in this as he is. And a fair number—though certainly not all—of the Handlers and other staff he’s seen or dealt with so far don’t seem like new trainees either.

He’s not stupid. He’d wondered before whether they had other operations going, other bunkers with more kids just like his. Especially when it came time for ranking assessments and there’d occasionally be a few unfamiliar faces in the fray every now and then. But at the time he’d dismissed it as him simply not keeping up with all the new operatives they were bringing in, or ones from other teams he was no longer a part of. Even for someone as attentive to detail as him it can get hard to keep track of every face when you’ve got new ones coming in all the time and hardly see or interact with the other teams below you but for in ranking sessions or the occasional combined team mission.

But when the others are changing for bed or for a mission they’re about to head out to, or they’re all standing in a line, back of their necks on display in a row before him, he sees the tally marks. The ones that mean that almost all of them that he’s been grouped with this time around, even the unfamiliar ones, are at least at or almost to level ten. Which means they’ve likely been around either about the same amount of time or close to as long as he has.

It’s funny he’d never really stopped to pay attention to other operatives’ marks before. Back then it had been such a mundane and unimportant thing to him that it hadn’t even occurred to him to pay them much attention. Especially with him not having had to attend or participate in any more ranking sessions those last few years. He’d had a general idea of the level everyone in his cohort was at each time he moved through the ranks and the teams because that was how it worked. Omega Team was usually for operatives ranked between levels one and three, Delta Team between levels three and five, Beta Team between level six and the lower spectrum of level eight, and Alpha Team for the higher spectrum of eight and above. It didn’t really matter much to him what another operative’s specific skill level was even in a fight because in his mind it was either they won or he won and that was all that mattered. Technique and skill and figuring out their preferred method of attack or predicting what their next move might be was more important in helping him determine the outcome of a fight than a specific number level was.

But knowing that now—especially when there’s so many unfamiliar operatives he knows nothing about that he’s now expected to work alongside while never having had to the opportunity to see them in action, learn their patterns—it gives him a bit of a better idea at least of who he’ll be working with. And what he might be up against if he ends up having to fight his way out of here.

It’s been four days now and they’ve yet to send him on a mission. Probably wary of involving him in anything yet with him having been back for so short a time. But it means that for now he spends most of his time either in more Re-indoctrination Sessions, testing sessions, or sitting around in his bunk doing nothing while the others are out.

On the downside it’s boring and repetitive and monotonous and absolutely mind-numbing, keeping up this whole charade. Acting like the perfect little soldier so he can pass all their tests with flying colors and float by undetected, blending in. Sitting in his bunk staring at the walls for hours, torturing himself with memories of Liam and his family and the others, thinking about how much he misses them, if he’ll be able to make it out of here to see them again.

But on the upside it gives him more time to plan.

He’s been mapping all the stairways and exits, the general layout of the building and the surrounding campus in his mind. Trying to figure out the best escape routes from every angle, every side of the building. The best time to do it he thinks is right before a mission, when most of the Handlers will be gathered all in one place.

That’s one of the things they do a bit differently this time around. Before, when it came to assignments on missions, the Director would usually choose who was paired with who, who was assigned to do what, what details needed to be disclosed to them about the mission, if any, etc. This New Director though seems less hands-on, more disposed to delegating, and so the Handlers get free reign on who they want to pick to bring with them. Like to line them all up and take turns picking like it’s a damn scrimmage for a footie game or something, and it’s a hell of a lot less efficient because most of the Handlers end up making their pick based on stupid logic. Who “looks” fastest or strongest—like their outward physical make-up actually gives away anything at all about their individual level of strength or speed which is not at all how it works—or who looks like the most fun or the prettiest. Never mind that it could cost them the entire mission if they don’t bring the right-skilled operative with them. It’s no wonder they’d been so easy to outsmart when he was out, the whole damn set-up’s a mess, reduced to nothing more than a joke, a pale shadow of the rigid order, status, and prestige it once held. Which again, is good for him because it only serves to put odds even more in his favor.

The main complication is the TAC Team Agents, as he’s since learned they’re called—the ones who’d kept coming after him before and failing—who are more involved this time around than they apparently used to be. They’re basically like the clean-up crew, he’s gathered. Not like the recovery team—a team of medics that get sent out when operatives or Handlers get injured on a mission and can’t get back on their own—but more like fixers. The ones responsible for cleaning things up after the fact to make sure the program’s not exposed, which is ironic given how poor a job they’ve been doing at it lately. But then he supposes that’s probably down to the fact that a good number of them, like the rest of the staff, are relatively new recruits.

They’d likely been the ones that had been sent to the bunker to destroy everything the day the old program had been shut down, he realizes now. Which means before now they’d probably been kept relatively separate from general day-to-day program operations, or at least separate from his bunker anyway, until they were needed because he’d certainly never seen them around before that he can recall. Now though they roam the property freely, give orders and pass down messages from the Director to the Handlers and other staff, and generally act like they run the place—when the Handlers aren’t acting like _they_ run things, that is.

There’s a clear power play struggle going on, on top of the underlying tension and animosity between the two groups, which he could maybe use to his advantage depending on how he ultimately decides to play this. But that’s not his main concern.

The Agents, they’re not very well-skilled. Even the ones that seem to have been around a little while, but especially the new recruits. A combination of what he’s guessing has become lackluster training in this new, half-assed, shittier version of the program and their over-reliance on code words to make things easier on themselves. But there’s a lot of them. At least in comparison to the number of Handlers, most of the former of which he’s guessing were killed in the shutdown before.

The main thing he’s worried about is how he’s going to get through all the Agents without a weapon and/or some sort of distraction. Because he may be good but he’s not _that_ good. Eight lazy, mostly shitty Handlers is nothing (eight as opposed to ten only because Handler A 2.0 and another Handler are currently out on a mission with a hand-picked team of operatives that’s required them to be gone for the last few days with no word so far on when they’ll be back). But close to thirty armed Agents with an arsenal of operatives at their beck and call, thanks to code words, against him with just his two bare hands for protection is no contest. There’s no way he makes it out of that fight alive and he’s not reckless enough or stupid enough to risk his only chance of escape on a certified suicide mission.

His best chance is to figure out some way to draw all the Agents away long enough for him to quickly pick his way through the Handlers and get out without being detected. If he can get the Agents out of the way long enough he won’t even have to worry about going up against any of the other operatives because they won’t act without orders.

He’s not giving up on them either though.

As much as he hates that the idea of leaving them all behind in this hellhole he knows they won’t go no matter how hard he tries. They won’t take orders from someone they see only as a fellow operative. But they’ll be okay. Because once he’s out he’s blowing the whistle on this whole fucked up shitshow, damn the consequences.

He’s not letting this go on any longer. He _refuses_.

And it won’t.

Because he’s got a plan. And it involves Louis and his ace hacking skills and a shit ton of dirty laundry aired out in every possible media outlet.

He just has to make it out of here in one piece first.

*

It’s by chance when he finally figures out a good distraction. It’s his fifth day in a row sitting in his bunk doing nothing, whiling away the time with half-formed daydreams of Liam while he pretends to study a map of a nearby county for a mission he probably won’t even get chosen for, not that he’s planning on following through with it if he does anyway. But a commotion outside draws his attention to the window a bunk away and he shuffles over to the space between the two bunk beds against that wall, right up to the window there, and peers down. Sees eight TAC Agents trying to wrangle the old Handler A, the one they’ve turned into their little pet science experiment, over to where the doors of what looks like a cellar sit open, four more Agents running over to help.

They must have taken it— _him_ —out for some sort of training exercise or something. But it’s clear he doesn’t want to go back down there with the way he’s fighting so fervently against their attempts to coax him toward the doors. He’s not outright attacking any of them, likely been trained not to the same way the operatives have, but he does manage to inadvertently wound a few of them in his struggle with those sharp claws of his, letting out animalistic moans and whimpers. Until a few more Agents come wielding dart guns, that is. They shoot him full of five darts before he finally goes down, knocked out by whatever was inside and then it takes nearly all of them to lift him as a unit and half-carry, half-drag him down into the cellar as best they can.

It’s awful to watch but it’s also exactly what he needed to see and at the exact right time too. It’s early morning still and he’s alone in his new team’s barracks, the other operatives gone for feeding time, which they haven’t started him back on yet, thank God. He’d long since removed the subcutaneous hub and catheter from his arm that used to sit there for intravenous feeding, which of course meant he was due for another one so they could start him back on the IV solution again. But they’re running low on supplies, not only medical ones, but weapons too. He’d been shocked when he woke up to the sound of gunshots two days ago, only learning after the fact, when it’d been his team’s turn to go out for “shooting practice” that they hadn’t needed in years, that the latest shipment of guns was missing the usual program-issued silencers.

The next shipment of medical supplies won’t be coming for another few days though, according to what he overheard some of the Nurses griping to each other about when they’d been trying to figure out what to do with him upon realizing his hub and catheter were “missing.” So for now he goes hungry until the next shipment comes, though he’s not planning on sticking around that long. And really it’s a blessing in disguise because it means he doesn’t have to sit through anymore of their dehumanizing bullshit, outside of daily showers at least.

The fact that it’s still so early in the day though means he’s got plenty of time to plan and prepare for his escape at what could be as early as this afternoon if he bides his time right and everything goes according to plan.

He’s got an exercise session a little later with the rest of his team, another new unnecessary thing they’ve started doing, and then mission line-up at noon. If he’s honest though he’s a little bit grateful to at least have had something else to do to pass the time while he’s been here besides staring at the walls and daydreaming himself into a stupor like he likely would’ve been doing otherwise. And right now he’s even more thankful for that time because it’ll give him an opportunity to create the perfect distraction he needs to draw most of the Agents away to one central location just before it’s time for mission line-up. That way they’ll hopefully still be otherwise occupied and out of the way when he makes his move, leaving only the Handlers for him to get through.

*

Zayn lags behind as he and his team do their final lap around the estate, waiting until all the other operatives are way ahead of him and already rounding their way around the nearest corner of the school building before he veers off to the left. To where the cellar doors sit locked closed with chains and a huge padlock against the right wall of the building. All of the Handlers and TAC Agents are back on the other side of the building waiting for them to finish their final lap so they can round them up and go back inside for mission line-up. So there’s no one else over here to see him break the chains and pull the doors open, pulling one door off the hinges a bit so it looks a little more like the thing formerly known as Handler A forced his way out.

He waits until he hears the familiar uneven clomp of metal against concrete followed quickly by the thud of a heavy boot, the rhythmic clink and thump of the thing edging his way closer to the cellar steps like he’s unsure. Probably not expecting for them to let him out again so soon. And then a hulking shadow appears at the bottom of the steps and starts to make its way up and Zayn darts away before the thing can properly land eyes on him. For all he knows the thing may still be under orders to kill him on sight and he has no desire relive that hellish nightmare again.

He rounds the corner of the building, catching up to the rest of his team easily and even passing some of them so it doesn’t look too suspicious that he was lagging so far behind as to be at the very end when he’s usually at the very front.

“Feeling a little tired today, are we, Twelve?” the Handler timing them remarks as Zayn skids to a stop and takes his place in line behind the others already waiting that he’s usually in front of. Zayn doesn’t answer of course and it’s a few more moments before the rest of the operatives still running join them, and they all make the silent journey back through the side door on the right side of the building behind the Handlers, filing into the usual room for mission line-up.

A few of the TAC Agents follow them inside, likely looking to supervise the picking, exert a bit of their power and fan their egos like they’re wont to do around the Handlers, but most of them stay outside. The Handlers are halfway through their picking when there’s a sudden ripple through the few Agents standing on patrol around the room. All of them darting panicked looks around at each other as they receive what’s sure to be a very frantic distress message on their comms and Zayn has to work hard to restrain himself from smirking as everything starts to fall into place.

The Handlers keep going on as if nothing’s even happening as all of the Agents rush back out the door, unfazed as they finish up with their selections. Zayn, however, nearly whips his head around in surprise when he hears his operative designation called out at the tail end of the last Handler’s list of picks.

It’s Handler F, not the one he knew at the bunker who’s likely long dead by now, but a different one. One who Zayn’s guessed must be from one of the other bunkers, or wherever it was the other bases were stationed at before the shutdown, because it’s clear he’s not a new recruit from what Zayn’s seen of him thus far.

He looks Zayn up and down with a smirk and a leer and Zayn knows already just from that look what’s about to happen. Refrains from rolling his eyes like he desperately wants to. And this may not have been part of his initial plan doing things this way but he can work with it, improvise. Though he’ll have to be quick about it, or as quick as he can anyway, before the Agents are done dealing with their no-so-little problem. And on the plus side this might give him an opportunity to catch them by an even bigger surprise.

When one of the other Handlers, Handler B, finally catches on to the way Handler F is looking at Zayn he rolls his eyes in exasperation just like Zayn had had to keep himself from doing.

“The fuck, F? We don’t have time for that bullshit.”

“I can be quick,” Handler F says, smirk still firmly in place. “Just gimme a few minutes with him, I’ll be in and out…literally.” He chuckles to himself at his own lame joke as Handler B blows a frustrated breath out of his nose, patience clearly running too thin to bother arguing with the other man further.

“You _better_ be fucking quick,” Handler B says, stepping past Zayn and through the line of operatives to open the door to the room behind them. “Ten fucking minutes, that’s it. And if you’re not out by then I’ll drag you out myself, I don’t give a fuck if you’re in the middle of coming your daft brains out.”

“Sure thing, boss. Be out before you know it,” Handler F says as he steps forward and takes Zayn by the arm, pulling him into the room with him.

Handler B shuts the door behind them while Zayn takes a moment to glance around, realizing there’s a full-sized bed and nightstand. He spares a moment to wonder if this is meant to be one of the new visitor rooms or if it’s been set up like this by the Handlers and Agents expressly for this purpose now that they have more free reign and less supervision. In the end though he supposes it doesn’t really matter since it won’t be getting used for much longer and certainly not by him.

He schools his face back into a neutral blank expression as Handler B turns around to face him.

“Go on, you know what to do. Probably a natural at this by the looks of it,” he says with a smirk.

When Zayn still doesn’t move or give any other kind of acknowledgment that he heard Handler F, the man huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Christ, you lot and your fucking precise orders. Alright, clothes off, then,” he bites out gesturing at Zayn’s still fully clothed form.

Zayn moves to remove all his clothes then, folds them meticulously and sets them aside in the little wooden chair that sits over by the wall and then waits once more.

Handler F smirks again as he looks him up and down before pausing, regarding Zayn like he’s thinking. “About face, operative—no, wait—face up. Yeah, definitely face up.” He nods to himself, looking Zayn up and down again with that smirk still in place and Zayn can’t wait to wipe it right off his face but for now he follows along with what he’s told. Plays his part, waiting for the exact right moment to strike.

He lies down on the bed, face-up as requested, and waits. Feels the bed dip a moment later as Handler F knees onto the bed and over him, straddling Zayn’s waist, still fully clothed.

Zayn bides his time, waits until the other man’s guard is completely down, wandering hands roaming over Zayn’s skin, eyes roaming over him predatorily like he’s thinking of all the things he wants to do and he can’t wait, and that’s when Zayn’s strikes.

He reaches his hand down to the man’s belt fast as a whip while his eyes are still busy roaming down Zayn’s chest, attention rapt. Rips the pocket knife at Handler F’s belt right out of its sheath and jams it into the man’s neck before he even realizes what’s happening. Handler F lets out a choked, surprised sound, eyes bulging wide and mouth dropping open as his gaze finally snaps up to Zayn’s face. He tries in vain to reach up weakly for Zayn’s hand, still wrapped around the handle of the blade and now it’s Zayn’s turn to smirk at _him_.

“Sorry, I know all you wanted was a quick fuck. But look at this way, you still got fucked, just maybe not the way you wanted. Oh, and it won’t be quick.”

Zayn reaches down to Handler F’s other side where his holster is and grabs his gun—thankfully one of the ones that still has the silencer on it—hopping breezily off the bed as he shoots him in the dick too for good measure, Handler F letting out a pained sound that sounds like a cross between a wheeze and a squeal. The sound is overcome though by another choke and Zayn leaves him gurgling on his own blood, trying desperately to scream from the pain but unable to do anything more than let out another weak, choked-off wheeze-squeal sound as Zayn quickly gets redressed.

He’ll die eventually. But it’ll be slow. And very, very painful.

Unfortunately though Zayn doesn’t have the luxury of taking his time like this with the others. The Handler A Android thing won’t hold the Agents for long so he’s gotta be quick about going through the rest of the Handlers if he wants to make it out of here in time.

Yanking open the door in a flash he steps out with Handler F’s gun at the ready, held up with bloody fingers. The Handler closest to the door, Handler B—the same one that had told Handler F to hurry up earlier—blanches, eyes wide as he stumbles back mumbling, “What the f—”

Zayn doesn’t let him finish, shoots him square between the eyes and before anyone else can even so much as move a muscle or get an order out to the still waiting operatives he’s firing off six more shots, shooting all the remaining Handlers in the face.

They drop to the floor like flies, all the operatives just standing there watching him curiously. They won’t make a move on him, he knows. Not even the ones from his old team. Because unlike before they haven’t been ordered take him down this time. As of right now they have no orders. Which means they also won’t come with him no matter how much he wants them to because they won’t listen to him and he doesn’t exactly have time to knock them all out and figure out a way to carry them all out of here and away from this place without getting himself caught all over again. He’s got a limited amount of time left already and each second more that he hesitates here is more time lost. He has to keep moving.

He volleys past the other operatives and out the side door and then around to the front of the school and of course because it’s just his luck Handler A 2.0 and Handler C, the other one with him, have just parked their mission van behind the others in the neat little row at the top of the drive. Both of them have their backs to him though, standing by the back of the van getting ready to open the doors to let the other operatives out that were on the mission with them. Zayn shoots Handler C in the back of the head and before her body even hits the ground he’s firing off another shot near the top of Handler A’s spine where he knows the C5 vertebra is, not wanting to kill him just yet.

He can hear the TAC Agents still struggling in the distance and he knows he’s got a bit of time, a few more minutes at least, to draw this out. It’s not ideal given that he would’ve liked to _really_ take his time with this but he’ll take what he can get.

He walks up to Handler A with purpose, already hearing his desperate pained gasps from meters away. He’s completely immobile but for his heaving torso as Zayn steps up to him, immediately paralyzed from the shot, though injury to that particular vertebra allows him to still have some limited control over his breathing. Key word being limited. Every breath from now on will be a struggle and that’s on top of being in excruciating pain, completely immobile, and at Zayn’s mercy.

Zayn flips him over with a shove from the toe of his boot, a low pained sound making its way out of him at the movement, and Handler A’s eyes are wide and terrified as he stares up at Zayn who crouches down low to peer at him.

“Hmph. Not smiling now, are we? How ‘bout I help with that?”

Zayn slips Handler A’s pocket knife from its sheath and brings it to the corner of the man’s lips, his eyes going wider and even more panicked as he realizes what Zayn’s about to do. He’s too weak from struggling for breath to let out a scream so instead all that comes out is a desperate whimper.

“Pity I didn’t get to see _you_ squirm, don’t have the time, but this’ll do just fine.”

He tucks the edge of the knife just inside the corner of Handler A’s mouth and slices open the skin all the way to the back of his jaw and then does the same on the other side, red pouring out in a bloody permanent smile. Like the Joker but much more gruesome.

“There. I think it’s fitting, don’t you? After all you do so love to smile, and we both know how much you love pain. This way you get to die with both. Kind of like…smiling at your own pain. Poetic justice. There’s so much beauty in irony, don’t you agree?”

More pained whimpers bubble up from Handler A’s throat, only heightening the torrent of red pouring from his grisly smile and Zayn stares down at him in mock pity.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I _could_ put you out of your misery…but what would be the justice in that? Can’t have you surviving either though.”

Zayn plunges the bloody knife into the left side of his chest, puncturing his already straining lung and his whimpers and wheezing breaths grow even more desperate. He’d already been struggling to breath but now he’ll be slowly drowning too. Drowning in his own blood, and it won’t be as long and drawn out as Zayn would’ve liked but it won’t be quick either and it’ll be plenty painful.

Zayn wipes his bloody hands on a clean patch of Handler A’s shirt, watching him struggle. Then he stands, regarding Handler A for a few more moments before he finally walks away, the echo of the man’s strained breaths and pained sounds of desperation fading with every step Zayn takes as he ambles down the long driveway.

When he reaches the tall black cast-iron gates he veers to the right and punches in the code on the little keypad exactly as he remembers it, the gates swinging open before him. He waltzes through, past the little automatic sensor at the right gate hinge and then turns, watching it close again before him.

He’s free.

 _He’s_ _free_.

He made it out.

Against impossible odds, but he _made it out_.

Now all he has to do is stay out of sight and off the main streets long enough to get home. But that’s the easy part. That’s the part he could do practically in his sleep. He already made it through the hard part.

They won’t catch him again this time. Not before he blows all their shit up in their faces.

He walks briskly down the block past the same huge houses and fancy cars he passed on his way here all those days ago, thinking to himself that he just has to make it past this block and then he can duck out of sight. Go down side streets that he passed by on his way here until he hits the highway and then he can follow the highway path through the thick copse of trees lining the side until he’s back in more familiar territory. Until he’s _home_.

Home safe and sound with Liam where nothing and no one but Liam can touch him ever again. His chest aches just thinking about it. But he won’t torture himself any longer by dwelling on it now. He’s close. _So_ close. He made it through. Just a couple more hours and it’ll be real. _Liam_ will be a real. No longer a daydream in his head but a real, solid, tangible thing in front of him. For him to hold and laugh into and cry into and _kiss_.

 _God_ , he can’t wait to kiss Liam stupid.

Soon.

Just a little while longer.

Past this stupid block and these stupid fancy houses and their stupidly expensive cars and.

Zayn’s train of thought stops right in its tracks, gaze landing on the one thing that doesn’t seem like it belongs.

There’s an old van parked a few meters down the block, a little ways down from where the houses start after the large expanse of the school property ends. It strikes him as odd because it looks old and beat up, dented and rusty blue with the name of some exterminator company he’s never heard of painted on the side. Totally out of place for this kind of neighborhood.

 _Murder. Cock. Roach._ _For all your cock and roach and other pest needs, come at us please_ , it reads. And it sounds like a combination of a joke from SpaceMonsters 3000 and that show Bob’s Burgers he and the others all binge-watched half of on a marathon one weekend. But Zayn can’t afford to waste time on something as trivial as a random van right now, even if it is weird, so he just squints, shakes his head and keeps moving past it. But then.

“Zayn!” a familiar voice yells and Zayn whips back around to the van in surprise because there’s never a time when he wouldn’t _not_ recognize that voice, not anymore, not when it’s all he’s wanted to hear and all he could think about for all the time he spent back in that godforsaken place.

“ _Liam_?” he says in shock, stopping stock still in his tracks again, eyebrows raising up to his hairline when he sees four more familiar faces behind Liam’s. “What the _bloody hell_ are you lot doing here?”

“Surveilling the place trying to figure out a way to break your skinny arse out, now get in here so we can make a bad ass getaway and leave these fuckers choking on our dust!” Louis calls from further inside the van where he’s sat at a wall of monitors tacked up on the inside left wall.

Zayn dashes over and climbs up in a flash, shutting the doors closed behind him right away while Sarah grins and Niall flashes him a bright smile and a wink from the window panel separating the back section from the driver and passenger seats. And then Niall’s taking off, Harry and Liam both pulling him down to the little bench seat on the opposite wall from Louis with grins big enough to split their faces.

Liam’s squeezing his hand so tight he’s probably cutting off all circulation but Zayn doesn’t care. He only lets go to wrap his arms around Liam’s neck and tuck his face in, pressing his nose against Liam’s warm skin, breathing him in, and Liam wraps arms around his back and holds him close just as tight, pressing kisses to the top of Zayn’s head, his ears, his temple, wherever he can reach.

A moment later he feels another pair of long arms wrapping around them both and Harry’s smiling face appears again next to Liam’s.

“Sorry to ruin your moment, but I wanted to get a hug in, too.”

Zayn laughs, half in pure adoration and excitement, half in disbelief that this is even happening, untangling one arm from around Liam to pull Harry in closer. And then they’re all laughing and squeezing each other’s arms and shoulders and pressing in close and suddenly Louis’ squeezing himself onto the end of the bench trying to budge his way into their group hug and harrumphing haughtily when they let him in.

Niall whoops loudly from the driver’s seat, Sarah laughing and cooing at them all fondly as they speed away from the place where they tried so hard to take everything away from him again, but couldn’t.

 _I’m coming back for you. I’m coming back for all of you_ , he repeats in his head like a promise as thinks of all the other operatives still back there, lost and trapped in that place.

*

“You all are _mental_. _Completely_ mental, you know that?” Zayn says a little later when they’ve all had a little while to calm down a bit from the initial excitement and _he’s_ had a chance to kiss Liam stupid like he promised he would. “D’you have any idea what could’ve happened if you’d been caught? They could’ve killed you! Or _worse_. They may have let Liam go before, but if they’d spotted him or any of the rest of you lot snooping around there’d be no chance in hell they’d let you all live and risk all their secrets getting out.”

“What did you expect us to do, babe?” Liam says calmly, like he’d been anticipating this argument and is already ready for it. “Just sit around twiddling our thumbs while you were left to rot in that place? It may have been reckless, yeah, I mean, what plan involving Louis isn’t, but…you _sacrificed_ yourself for _me_. To get me out. It was only fair I do the same for you. But I couldn’t exactly do it alone and, well, they were more than willing to help. And we still helped get you away, didn’t we?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re all reckless idiots for even daring it. Christ, I mean I love you guys, but you’re _really_ stupid sometimes,” Zayn says with an admonishing shake of his head.

“Pot. Kettle,” Harry says, gesturing from Zayn to the rest of them as a collective.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Where are we even going anyway?” he says when he realizes they’re off the highway now but going in the opposite direction of his and Liam’s flat.

“Nerd Squad on the other side of town,” Louis says. “Wi-fi café.”

Zayn waits for him to elaborate but he’s half-distracted, typing God knows what on three different monitors, switching from one to the other effortlessly.

“It’s a different location than Louis’,” Liam explains. “We’re going in so we can use the wi-fi café. S’basically like a free computer lab that’s open to the public all day during business hours. It’s kind of the one thing Nerd Squad’s got going for them that Geek Squad doesn’t have. People can pretty much come in anytime during the day and use the computers for free, get work done, print and make copies and that sort of thing. They even have conference rooms where you can reserve time for meetings or study sessions and stuff. Or in our case secret plots to overthrow an underground government-sanctioned child slave operation. But anyway Louis’ work friend got transferred from Louis’ location to this one a while back and they still keep in touch from time to time so Louis used his connections to block out a reservation for us for one of the conference rooms indefinitely. And since it’s a neutral place that anyone can come in and use it can’t really be traced easily. He says it’s better than IP-rerouting, which apparently can still be hacked and traced, because this way nothing connects back to any of us directly.”

“Right,” Zayn says trying to make sense of the reasoning behind all of what Liam just said. “And what exactly are we doing that necessitates us not being traced?”

“Putting all their business in the street,” Louis answers, still half-distracted.

Oh. They beat him to the punch then.

A weird expression must come across on his face though because Liam says, “That’s okay, right? I mean, we figured this is something you’d want too, but if not…”

“ _No_ , no, it’s great, just…you lot beat me to it. I was thinking the same thing, while I was in there, I mean. I just didn’t consider that you all might have thought of it, too.”

“Does that mean we’re not idiots anymore?” Niall calls from the front.

Zayn huffs a laugh. “No, definitely still idiots, just smart idiots.”

“I’ll take it,” Sarah says with a shrug, flashing a grin at Zayn over her shoulder.

“Just one request?” Everyone, except Niall of course, turns curious eyes on him, waiting. “Just…just promise me that when all this is over, whatever happens, you’ll find some way to help the others too…the others like me.” He pauses, not sure if he should even say what he’s about to say next but then thinks fuck it because if he can’t be honest with the people he trusts most in this world then who can he be honest with? There’s no point in keeping things bottled up inside his head anymore when he doesn’t have to. “They’re…they’re my family, too. They’re who I spent a decade of my life with even though I didn’t ever really have a chance to know them, and I left them there. _Twice_. I owe it to them to try and do everything I can to get them out. If that means all of my secrets, and their secrets, have to come out too in the process right beside all the other dickbags’ then so be it. A chance at a life out here, at _freedom_ , however high the price, is better than no life at all like they’d have if they stayed trapped there and I stayed silent. So…whatever happens to me after this…just promise me you’ll help them…like you helped me.”

“Of course we will, but…what are you saying?” Liam presses. “What do you mean ‘whatever happens’ to you?”

Zayn sighs. “I know you all don’t like to think of all the things I did as crimes but…that’s what they were. That’s what they’ll _be_ in the eyes of the public. You lot can’t change that anymore than I can. And someone’s gonna have to pay the price, someone’s gonna have to answer for all of it.”

“Yeah, _them_ ,” Liam says emphatically. “The arseholes that did all this, not _you_. Or any of the others. The public will see that, once they hear everything that was done to you they’ll _see_ that.”

“You don’t know that.”

Liam squeezes Zayn’s hand where it lays in his in the hold that hasn’t broken once since nearly the moment Zayn stepped into the van. “No, but I believe it all the same. I know it’s hard for you to see the good in people after everything you’ve faced, but there _are_ good people out there, Zayn. Lots of them. And they’ll be on your side. And so will we.”

Zayn wishes he could believe that. He really does. But in the end it doesn’t really matter how many good people there are out there that might understand, that might support him and the others. Because in the end money and power trumps good and anyone can be bought. All it takes is the right incentive. And these assholes have got most of the country’s money and power already behind them. Which means they can spin this anyway they want and still come out relatively unscathed, even if they may never fully bounce back.

And sure, there’s a chance he and the others could still make it out mostly unscathed too, however small it might be, and Zayn would be lying if he said he wasn’t holding out the tiniest bit of hope for that outcome. But he’s also had lots of time over the past few days to mentally prepare himself for this and for what might happen, to solidify himself in the decision to bring them down anyway despite the consequences he himself might face in doing so. Regardless of what happens it doesn’t mean he’s any less determined to bring them down. And in the meantime he’s gonna make the most of the time he does have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg so this was probably the chapter i was most excited to get to to date cause i just couldn't wait to see what you guys' thoughts and reactions to it would be! i've literally been so antsy for weeks for y'all to read it and was even tempted to speed up my posting schedule just to get to it but didn't wanna mess myself up and end up in a situation where you guys would be waiting for weeks for an update again just cause i decided to move too fast with my updates lol but anyway so excited to see what y'all thought of this one and really looking forward to reading your reactions in the comments! :)
> 
> unofficial theme song for the first half/two-thirds of this chapter - dusk till dawn, and for the second half/end - you and i lol; both have been added to [the bonus playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/12101105796/playlist/13rgXffY8L8EXplTIgeV2Y?si=qXWTt-5SQ-yCcjlqONwvQw) ([main playlist is here](https://open.spotify.com/user/12101105796/playlist/1BtE30BpsUFghPwvk394JV?si=xCYM4rk9TluZ7xMb9UaSyg) if you haven’t listened to it yet, and if you wanna see the post I made explaining some of the songs/song choices [that’s here](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/170702299193/the-super-ridiculous-twelve-playlist))


	15. Chapter 15

_Liam_

Liam hadn’t been sure what to expect when they got Zayn back again, hadn’t wanted to think what version of him they might find. He definitely hadn’t considered that Zayn might find _them_ first. But it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s _here_ and he’s _him_ and he’s safe again and that’s all Liam really cares about right now and he doesn’t ever want to let go of Zayn’s hand again. Won’t let go even as Louis parks the van down the street from the Nerd Squad building in an alley at the end of the block and they all file out.

It’s louder than usual when they get inside which is to be expected since it’s the weekend and there’s more people here in general than they’re usually would be on the weekdays, but it still feels strange. Every other time Liam’s been to one of these places it’s been for something mundane. To visit Louis, or to use the computers when his old one was on the fritz back in uni, or wait around while he was having it fixed by the “Nerds.” Now they’re using it to bust a huge underground organization and it’s a strange feeling to walk in and see so many people going about normal, everyday things like browsing Facebook or doing research for class or working on a work presentation. All of them typing away, completely unaware of what’s been going on underneath their noses all this time and the bombshell that’s about to drop in just a couple of hours.

The whole floor is full of people, a din of murmured voices and harsh key-clacking and the hum of printers running as people work. But it all falls to the background and eventually fades completely into dead silence as they file past the rows of computers and printers, all the way to the back where the conference rooms are, and shut the door behind them, cutting themselves off from all the noise of outside.

They’ve been here a few times already over the past few days, Louis taking every little bit of info more that he could get his hands on each day they spent surveilling the place and then bringing it back here to root through it, slowly compiling a dossier. Most of what he could get’s been encrypted, though not all. It’s mainly just the really sensitive stuff that could really fuck people over that they’d put under lock and key. And Louis hadn’t wanted to risk decoding it in the van so close by in case they found out and managed to get a lock on _him_ , not knowing quite how far their network reached. So instead the four of them have all been coming here, far away from anywhere within the program network’s reach in a place that’s virtually impossible to trace back to any one specific person, while Louis decodes what he can piece by piece.

Every time they’ve gone back Louis’s been able to delve a bit deeper into their servers until he’d managed to get his hands on almost every record they had. E-mails, reports, memos, photos, videos, logs of financial records, even personal notes and files from individual personnel. A good portion of it was mundane, relatively useless stuff, things with no specifics on what was being done or who was involved. But the deeper he’d gone the more he’d uncovered until just late yesterday he’d hit the jackpot. Found where they’d been keeping all the files he needed to connect people’s real names and livelihoods to everything that had gone down. Individual missions, details on what or who was being requested or ordered to do specific things, and who was making the order or request, who had paid for it and how and what exactly they’d paid to be done. All the really dirty details they’d need to bring this whole thing to its knees.

And not only that but every detail of what had happened to the operatives. How and when they’d initially scoped them out and brought them in, what had been done to fully “integrate” them, and more. Indoctrination and training and sparring sessions and discipline sessions and performance and mission success rates and ranks. The whole set-up, the whole process all spelled out before them, coded in program-speak of course, but still clear as crystal in so far as what it meant. The whole “program history” of every single operative, dead or alive, that had ever been in their charge.

It had taken him all day yesterday and most of the morning today to get it all, the four of them staying rooted there in the van with him all night while he worked, despite the risk. Listening to him stutter and curse, and at a few points nearly break down, through relays of some of the things he was finding, files they hadn’t bothered to encrypt because they didn’t necessarily reveal any incriminating personal or financial information, even if they did reveal horrible truths. Needless to say it had been a rough night for all of them. Though in the end it had only strengthened their resolve to get Zayn out, a plot which they’d been planning to finally embark on that night now that they had pretty much all they needed, not only to bring the fuckers down, but to get in and get out relatively undetected.

They’d found the passcode to get past the gates, had mapped the layout of the building and the school grounds and knew all the routines and patrol schedules and when the best time of night would be to sneak in without anyone being the wiser while most everyone was asleep. Knew exactly where to go to avoid the few personnel who’d be patrolling the grounds and corridors and which room, or “barracks” they’d been keeping Zayn in. They’d had it all planned out to a T, had just been waiting for night to fall before they made their move, but Zayn as it turned out had beat them to it. And left a trail of agony and death to boot in his wake for a good portion of them on his way out.

If he’s honest though Liam hadn’t really cared _how_ it would all go down with Zayn getting out, just as long he _did_. But there’s a messed up kind of satisfaction in knowing that he left behind a good deal of damage on his way. It’s probably fucked up that it makes Liam a little bit proud knowing exactly what Zayn did, but then again what part of this whole situation isn’t all kinds of fucked up.

What matters is that Zayn made it out and that he he’s _here_ and he’s _safe_.

But that doesn’t mean they don’t still have a good amount of work ahead of them. Or rather, Louis and Harry do. Because with them being in the van all night Louis hadn’t had a chance to decrypt a good amount of the files he managed to grab between yesterday and today which means there’s still a lot for him to get through and sort and organize before he can do what he needs to do and let Harry take the reigns.

So as they all crowd into the room, Liam, with Zayn in tow still hand in hand with him, heads straight for the little loveseat they’ve since commandeered that they pulled in from against the wall outside the conference room. Which is still here in the exact same place it’s stayed after they first brought it in nearly a week ago now since they’re pretty much the only ones allowed access to this room besides the cleaning crew.

They’ve pushed the large meeting table and most of the chairs that accompany it over into the opposite corner to make space so the loveseat sits just a few feet behind Louis in the far left corner of the conference room where there’s a small desk with two monitors and a desk chair that Louis’ currently sat in; already busy typing away while Niall and Sarah perch on the arms of the small couch on either side of Liam and Zayn, Harry pulling up a rolling chair from the conference table to the edge of the desk to sit by Louis.

Liam settles in for what he knows will probably be at least a couple of hours of Louis grumbling to himself and typing violently, occasionally relaying out his particularly shitty finds, while Zayn curls softly into his side, head pillowed on Liam’s shoulder; Zayn’s fingers twined with his where they still haven’t let go even after all this time and Liam feels himself relax, _truly_ relax, for the first time in almost a week.

The minutes and hours tick by in relative silence, only occasionally interrupted by Louis’ muttering, or brief conversations between the five of them while he types, until sure enough he finally stumbles on the last bit of truly incriminating evidence.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , this wasn’t even the first time they’d done this shit. They started all this _ten years_ before Zayn was even taken but they got shut down and had to refigure funding before they could start it all back up again.” Louis sighs, long and low, like even just reading it is draining the life out of him but continues on with his recount anyway, eyes scanning the screen. “Looks like only a few of the operatives from that first group survived their little purge long enough to make it into the next rebrand, or the ‘second iteration’ as they called it. The first one ended in December 2004 and according to these documents most of the operatives had to be ‘terminated’ either for ‘insubordination’ or ‘lack of proper faculties’ because apparently things weren’t going quite how they’d hoped. Seems they were still working out the kinks of their fucked up ‘Integration and Indoctrination’ process. Gave the operatives a little too much freedom and free will so that the ones who _did_ manage to make it out of the Integration part without their brains completely fucked and turned to mush got it in their heads to plan attacks on their superiors or even to try and escape.

“But of course they couldn’t have that, so they terminated most of them except for a few they managed to successfully ‘Re-indoctrinate’ and then they had to shut things down for a while before they were able to get things back up and running again by March 2005. _Jesus fucking Christ_ , those _sick fucks_.” Louis curls his hands over the edge of the desk until his knuckles are white and blows a harsh breath out through his nose, and then goes back to the keyboard and starts typing again even more furiously. “No way in hell I’m letting these bastards get the rest of the way through setting up for ‘iteration number three’ or whatever the fuck they want to fucking call it. _This_ little piggy went to the police and _this_ little piggy went to every member of Parliament, and _this_ little piggy went to the heads of the MOD and _this_ little piggy went to every local news station. There!” He punctuates his point with one last particularly hard keystroke against the keyboard. “Try and see if you can cover up all _that_ bullshit, ya fucking dickhead assholes! This’ll be all over the news before they can even blink and there’s no way they’ll be able to hide then. Not with the entire police force on them and whoever’s left in the government and the MOD that _isn’t_ involved with all this calling for their heads.”

Louis spins triumphantly in his chair to face them as they all share conspiratorial wicked grins and then Harry’s whipping out his phone, typing furiously. Likely notifying all his contacts and colleagues with the papers and news stations just like they planned so they can jump on the story before the powers that be have a chance to spin any of it to cover their arses. This way they’ll be able to tell it all from a fair perspective with the cold, hard facts about who all was involved and just how high up this goes and how pervasive it is so all the sick fucks responsible won’t have anywhere to hide. Make known everything that was done to Zayn and the others in order to make them compliant before they can get unfairly painted as the bad guys or before anyone can cry “crazy conspiracy theory” and dismiss it all to the recesses of the internet.

“Christ, Louis, I could _kiss_ you right now,” Zayn says with an ear-splitting grin and everyone laughs, Louis muttering out an overly sarcastic _no thanks, I’ll leave that job to Liam if you don’t mind_.

And this is it. They’ve done it.

Less than an hour from now everything will be different. But Zayn will be safe, _truly_ safe from those monsters once and for all, and that’s all that matters. Keeping him safe from the public and the police when the time comes will be another matter entirely, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it. For now this is enough. For now this is all he needs.

When the laughter eventually dies down even as the excitement continues, Zayn goes quiet and Liam knows what he’s thinking. Knows that as grateful as Zayn might be that all of this is finally going to come out and that everyone responsible might finally pay for everything they’ve done, Zayn’s also thinking about what this means for _him_. That his secrets are going to be out to the world now too and Liam can see in the set of his jaw that he’s anxious even though he’s clearly trying to hide it, worried about what this might mean for him and his future. For both of them.

“Hey,” Liam says, soft, almost a whisper, so the others can’t overhear over their raucous exclamations and chatter, squeezing Zayn’s hand in his own. “It’s gonna be okay, yeah? We’re gonna be okay. Whatever happens, I’m never letting anyone take you away from me again. Not _ever_.”

Zayn smiles, soft and sweet, dropping his head to Liam’s shoulder and squeezing Liam’s hand back in return and it feels like a promise. Maybe not that he’ll stop worrying or agonizing over all the ways that this could go wrong, all the things that could happen to him. But a promise that whatever happens they’ll have each other, and for now that’s all that matters.

*

They’re all rounding the back corner of the alley near the end of the block where the van is discreetly parked a little while later when there’s a sudden loud rumble that startles them all as a black van comes hurtling toward them. The van screeches to an abrupt halt only meters from where they’d all been walking, the sound of the back doors banging open reverberating through the constricted space as a gang of people come filing out around to the front, some of them armed.

“Run!” Zayn yells pushing himself forward to stand in front of them and shoving Liam and the others backwards. The others move to turn back but Liam hesitates.

“What about y—”

“I’ll be fine, I’m right behind you! Go!” Zayn yells at the same time as the first few Handlers, or Agents, or whatever they are, come rushing towards him. Liam takes off, stealing glances behind himself at Zayn as he goes and as he turns Liam sees Zayn take the first few all out at once with one clean sweep of his leg in the air and run at the next few head on before Liam’s turning back around again.

He bounds back down the alley after the others, the sharp crunch and crack of bones breaking, harsh thuds of bodies hitting the ground, and finally, gunshots all ringing out behind him as he goes.

He’s almost to the end of the alley when something explodes through the top of his left arm, right by the edge of his shoulder, and he screams in pain, knocked forward to the ground by the blow. Two more quick gunshots go off behind him and then footsteps are pounding heavily on the asphalt, nearing closer and closer and Liam tenses on the ground, readying himself for another shot. But familiar hands grab at him, pulling him up gingerly and urging him forward.

“Come on, we’ve got to go!” Zayn says as he tugs Liam forward with a hand around his waist.

“Hurts,” Liam says with a grimace, stumbling along, holding his arm to his chest gingerly.

“I know, but you’re gonna be okay. These fuckers have bad aim, it’s just a flesh wound. Nothing vital.”

It’s not very comforting when it still feels like Liam’s entire upper arm is on fire and all the muscles and nerves and tendons inside have been ripped to shreds and left open and throbbing and burning and bleeding. _God_ , there’s _so much blood_. His entire sleeve is soaked with it already, leaving a trail behind them as they stumble along behind the others. If this is just a flesh wound it’s definitely deeper than Zayn’s was the time he got shot because Liam’s already starting to feel light-headed from how much blood he’s losing. Each jerk of movement as they go jostles his arm slightly, despite him trying to keep it as still as possible, and sends a brief flare of pain slicing through him. But Liam just grits his teeth and tries his best to keep moving through it.

Zayn yells for them to turn down another alley and then another and another and another, probably trying to keep out of view of the main streets, before they finally reach a point where the seemingly endless volley of alleys ends. He pulls Liam to a stop then, shrugging out of the dark hoodie Liam gave him earlier so he’d have something to wear over the stark black program-issued clothes Liam knows he hates so much. Zayn slides it gently over Liam’s head and torso to hide the bloody mess he’s become as best they can so they don’t attract too much attention going through the streets, and getting his arm through the sleeve feels like a thousand volts of electricity burning through him. But once it’s inside and he can hold it still again the pain starts to dull once more, back to the normal level of burning and throbbing he’s starting to get accustomed to.

Liam’s not sure how long they’d been running through that maze of alleys for. It feels like it had been a long time, though at the moment time is kind of blurring together in the haze of pain that’s fogging up his mind. But when he looks around he realizes that they’ve somehow made it back by an area not too far from their own neighborhood, only a few blocks away from their flat.

“What the fuck,” Louis says, half bent over and wheezing for breath, hands on his knees, but looking up at the streets around them with squinty eyes. “How the fuck are we here? Those fucking alleys were practically going in circles, how did you even know where you were going? Are you secretly a wizard or something? Because I swear to God we just portaled through a maze to get here.”

Zayn smiles but it’s tight and he turns back to Liam with concerned eyes. “You okay? Think you can make it another few blocks to the flat?”

“I’m—” Liam nods, starts to say he’s good, that he can make it, but cuts himself off when a wave of vertigo rolls over him and his vision goes a little swimmy. It passes after a moment and he blinks slowly, takes a deep breath. Hadn’t even realized he’d been swaying a little, momentarily unsteady on his feet, until he feels Zayn’s arm snaking around his waist again, steadying him.

Zayn looks around with wide eyes, gaze landing on a motorcycle a few meters down, secured to a short pole.

“Zayn. Don’t.” Liam shakes his head weakly, takes another deep breath and then raises his head a little, straightening his back so he’s standing up a little straighter and not so hunched over, trying to make himself look less weak than he feels. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I can make it.”

He goes to take a step to prove his point but then stumbles, drained and weak, and nearly losing his balance until Zayn’s wrapping an arm around him again to catch him.

“You’re _not_ fine. And I’m getting you on that bike whether you like it or not. I’ll bring it right back when I’m done, they won’t even miss it.”

“You don’t even…” Liam pauses, taking in a slow breath, suddenly finding it a struggle to even keep talking through an unexpected wave of fatigue and feeling even weaker than he had just a moment ago. “You don’t even know how to…how to ride a…”

Zayn shrugs. “Seen plenty of people do it, and I’m a quick learner. I’ll figure it out. Now, come _on_.” He tugs Liam along with the arm still around his waist, turning to call back at the others over his shoulder, “Meet you all back at the flat, yeah?”

Liam hears soft murmurs of agreement from behind him and then Zayn’s practically gliding him over to where the motorcycle is with an arm pinning Liam to his hip, Liam’s feet barely touching the ground. And then he’s letting Liam rest against the pole while he breaks off the locks like tags on a new shirt, and hot-wires it to get it running.

“ _Why_ do you…know how do that?” Liam mumbles tiredly between breaths, trying for a wry smile but he’s not sure his lips quite make it.

Zayn shrugs again. “S’not all that different from a car. They may not have wanted most of us driving—too much independence, I guess—but if a mission car or truck broke down they wanted to make sure any one of us would be able to fix it or at least get it moving, even if only the operatives who had eye cams were the only ones who actually got to drive them. Easier to monitor, I reckon, over the rest of us. Plus, it had the added bonus of giving us a new skill as far as knowing how to disable a target’s car if we needed to.”

“Eye cams?” Liam repeats, voice weak. He doesn’t think Zayn’s ever mentioned anything like that to him before.

“I’ll explain later,” he says dismissively, standing back up and helping Liam over the seat before he settles in front of him, wrapping Liam’s arms carefully around his waist.

Liam drapes forward against Zayn’s back gratefully, resting all his weight against Zayn as they take off, engine rumbling underneath them. He sees them breeze easily by the others walking up the block through hooded eyes, but he’s too weak and exhausted to wave and instead just closes his eyes and breathes in the cool summer air, drinking in the feeling of Zayn warm and solid and _alive_ against him.

Once they’re finally inside their building, bike tucked safely away inside the ground floor doorway of the abandoned building next-door where no one can spot it or re-steal it, Zayn lifts Liam bridal style—Liam letting out a soft groan of pain as the movement jostles his arm again—and then he’s taking the stairs two or maybe even three at a time. Liam’s not entirely sure seeing as he’s only half-conscious at this point and he’s not even fully aware of them getting to their floor, much less inside their flat, but the next thing he knows he’s being lowered into the tub as Zayn gently strips him of his clothes.

He flinches, gritting his teeth and groaning weakly again, trying to squirm away when Zayn presses a cool, wet flannel to the wound.

“Got to clean you off, babe,” Zayn says softly, movements light and gentle but still lighting a fire in his arm that burns all the way through his veins. “Next part’s only gonna get worse. I gotta stitch you up, close up the wound and stop the bleeding. I can knock you out, but that’s gonna hurt too. We don’t have anything else that would work quick enough.”

“Mmm. Please,” Liam moans with a weak nod.

Zayn scoots Liam closer to the edge of the tub, takes a deep, slow breath like he’s steeling himself and then wraps an arm around Liam’s neck, tight, cutting off his airway.

Liam’s body jerks and twists, wound throbbing and burning right along with his lungs as he gasps and fights against Zayn’s hold even though he wants this. But he’s too weak to fight for very long and after a few feeble moments of him struggling and writhing eventually the fight goes out of him completely and everything goes fuzzy grey, and then black.

When he comes to, Zayn’s sat up against the wall next to the tub, eyes closed and head lolling in sleep. He’s rinsed away all the half-dried blood that had started to cake into Liam’s skin, over his arm and the entire left side of his chest and hip and even the top of his thigh. Liam’s arm is wrapped neatly in gauze and bandages, still throbbing—and stinging now too, probably from the stitches—but not nearly as much as before. There’s a pile of bloody flannels, more gauze, and what look like medical grade bandages and tape, and a little roll of thread littering the floor; a half-open med kit pushed off to the side with some of the contents still spilling out. The others must be back by now because that looks like Sarah’s med kit, which Liam’s frankly seen far too often in the last year for his liking.

Liam grunts a little, involuntarily, as he goes to sit up properly and Zayn stirs from sleep, blinking his eyes open to smile at Liam.

“Hey, you’re up.”

“Could say the same for you,” Liam replies with a smile of his own.

Zayn shrugs, scratching at his head, now nearly bare again, and Liam’s heart gives a sad little twinge at the sight just like it had when he first saw Zayn again.

“Yeah, didn’t really get too much sleep in there now that I’ve got so used to luxury sheets. You’ve spoiled me. Can you believe they wouldn’t even fluff my pillow or tuck me in with a good night kiss before bed?” Zayn quips, lips quirking up in a half-smile, half-smirk, and Liam blows out a soft puff of laughter through his nose. Zayn nods his chin at Liam’s bandage. “How’s your arm feeling?”

“Like I got shot.”

Zayn snorts, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better you were definitely a sport about it. Ran like three miles gushing blood without complaining and then still tried to put on a brave face. They got you pretty deep, took a nice little chunk out of your arm, which is why you were bleeding so much but the bullet didn’t go through anything major like bone or deep tissue or anything. It’ll probably be a while before it fully heals, and you lost a lot of blood so you’ll probably be feeling pretty exhausted and a little weak for a few days, plus they also messed up your cute little banner over the knight. But you get to keep the arm so that’s a plus. It’s a nice arm.”

“Hey!” Louis calls suddenly from outside, banging on the bathroom door. “You better not be having post-traumatic sex in there!”

“Post-traumatic sex?” Zayn mouths with an eyebrow raised, and then out loud to Liam but still enough soft so he can’t be overhead. “Is that even a thing?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “If it is, it’s just a Louis thing,” he says as he sits forward gingerly, leaning most of his weight on his uninjured arm as he pushes himself slowly to his feet.

Even standing makes him feel a little woozy and light-headed and it takes him a second to get his bearings but it passes after a moment and he steps carefully over the side of the tub. Zayn pushes the things littering the floor out of the way with a foot and scurries past him over to the toilet where there’s a fresh stack of clothes sitting on top of the lid. He hands the clothes to Liam to put on, helping him out a bit when he starts to get a little winded or has trouble trying to get his injured arm carefully through the sleeve without exacerbating it too much. Liam notices Zayn’s still in his program clothes though, probably hadn’t wanted to leave Liam’s side even to change, which is sweet in a way but also makes him a little sad.

“You too,” Liam says once he’s fully dressed, nodding his chin down at Zayn’s outfit.

“I will. In a bit.”

When they finally come shuffling out of the bathroom together, Liam drops heavily down onto the couch while the others all crowd around him, cooing over him and making sure he’s okay and comfortable, Zayn dipping briefly into the bedroom to change before coming back out to join him on the couch.

“How the hell did they even find us?” Louis says once they’ve all settled back down again, him, Harry, Niall and Sarah all sprawled across the floor atop the blankets and pillows that have become a bit of a permanent fixture on Liam’s living room floor over the last week.

Zayn sighs, shakes his head, one hand still twined in Liam’s as he runs his other over his own shorn hair again. “Posh area like that, the whole neighborhood’s got security cameras. Probably tapped into one of the neighbor’s feeds looking for anything suspicious after I left, saw the van, got your plates, and tracked it here. S’my fault. I knew there was a chance, I just…hoped by time they got their shit together again after the mess I left them that it’d be too late. I should’ve known better.”

“Doesn’t really matter now though, right?” Niall says. “I mean…we got away just now, and by tomorrow this time their shit’ll be all over the news—probably already is at this point—and they won’t be able to come after us then, yeah? They’ll all be too busy trying to shut down and cover their arses and deal with the blowback to be coming after us.”

“Niall’s got a point,” Louis agrees. “You can’t blame yourself for what you didn’t know, mate. _I’m_ certainly not, I was honestly just asking cause I was curious. And besides it’s all in the past now. We’re okay. _All_ of us. We all knew the risks we were taking going through with all of this. But now that their shit’s all out in the open they won’t be able to come after you anymore. After _any_ of us. And with any luck some of the bastards might even go down before they have a chance to flee the country. They may be smart but I highly doubt even they saw this coming and in a few hours it’ll be too big for even them to cover up. They may have half the media and the government in their pockets but they don’t have everyone, and with shit this big even the ones who’ve been bought can’t afford to stay silent on this without throwing suspicion on themselves. There’s no coming back from this. They’re going _down_ , Zayn. We got ‘em.”

“Yeah…we did, didn’t we?” Zayn smiles and it’s bittersweet, probably thinking again of the uncertainty that lies ahead for himself.

Liam squeezes his hand in reassurance and smiles too, goes for hopeful as he turns to Zayn, trying to will some of his own confidence into Zayn through his eyes and through their joined fingers.

It still doesn’t feel real even to Liam. But maybe in a few more hours it will, once it all really starts to sink in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if anyone even still reads these end notes...probably not...i'm probably mostly just talking to myself but to the one person maybe still reading this: 
> 
> sorry for any nerves I may have destroyed with this chapter (especially the part where zayn chokes liam out)! hopefully no one was too worried about Liam dying as there's a big difference between a chokehold meant to kill and one just meant to knock someone or and you can rest assured zayn knows that difference and the bullet of course was just a graze (though a slightly deep one) so all relatively minor things just that may not have seemed so minor in the moment with liam's body not being able to cope/withstand as easily as zayn's would have with the same kind of damage/under the same kind of strain.
> 
> unofficial theme songs for this chapter - you & i again for the beginning, just hold on for the middle, and i'm like a lawyer by fob for the end* - [all have been added to the bonus playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/12101105796/playlist/13rgXffY8L8EXplTIgeV2Y?si=NYUcq4t2QyamLDBX1RDmog).
> 
> *couldn’t wait to get to this part so i could finally explain why that fob song on the playlist sticks out to me even more cause that one line in particular “we’re the new face of failure, prettier and younger, but not any better off” to me is reminiscent of the scene with them finding out this has all been done before and zayn/twelve and his cohort were just the newer, shinier versions of what they failed at doing the first time around...ok so so sorry, enough of my rambling, hope you enjoyed! (and hi to my one loyal end note reader whoever and wherever you are/if you even exist lol)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some happy domestic ziam! :)  
> (y'all deserve it after sticking with this through the drama of the last few weeks lol)

_Zayn_

Liam runs a hand over the short spiky tendrils of Zayn’s hair, still growing back in, and Zayn smiles at him as the two of them lie face to face in bed, early morning sun streaming over them through the window.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Liam says and his fingers drift down to Zayn’s jaw where his beard is already back to the length he likes it. Hadn’t taken more than a couple of days to grow back to the short stubbled look he prefers. Unfortunately he can’t say the same for his hair, which will probably take close to a year for him to grow out fully again back to the length it was. But it’s a small price to pay for his life and for Liam’s life, and he’d do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to.

It still sucks every time he reflexively goes to run his hands through it or catches his reflection and remembers. But he’s slowly getting used to it, or trying to anyway. There’s a funny kind of satisfaction though in knowing that pretty much everyone around him misses it just as much as he does. The others had spent a grand total of about an hour after they all got back trying not to mention it before Louis had finally blurted out how tragically unfair it was that Zayn still managed to pull off being nearly bald so well when “some of us” were still struggling to look decent even with a full head of hair.

It had been just the right thing to say to break the tension, as usual, and instead of all of them continuing to avoid it like the plague while they rambled on about nothing in particular they were all laughing; continuing on where Louis left off, with a string of bad jokes and puns about being bald. Which it was true, he nearly was.

In that newer iteration of the program it appeared they’d since done away with the usual military-like crew cut and opted instead for a straight buzzcut. Which they’d re-upped on every three days like clockwork so Zayn was still fresh off a second haircut from the day from before at the time and did in fact look nearly bald as a result. But it was nice to be able to laugh about it instead of feeling upset over it, even if just for a little while.

And in the days since, Liam’s helped too. One of the things Zayn had been most sad about after coming back, besides the simple fact that this huge symbol of his freedom was now gone, was that Liam wouldn’t be able to play with his hair anymore because there was nothing to play _with_. And he’d known it was kind of a dumb thing to be upset over in the grand scheme of things when everything could easily have been so much worse, but still it was there. Liam though, somehow always seeming to know exactly what he needs like a sixth sense, had taken to messing with it anyway, short as it was. Running his hands over the barely-there tiny bristles of hair like a caress everyday as it grew into the short spiky whisps it’s reached now. And somehow, instead of being a constant reminder of what he’s lost, the touch still has the effect of grounding him like before. Reminds him that they’ve taken from him for the last time. And that where there was still so much potential for loss before—not only while he was inside but the entire time in the two years he thought he was free where they’d been after him—now there’s only room for growth, both in the metaphorical sense and the literal sense.

He may have lost a lot, the full of magnitude of which he might never really know because there’s no telling what he could have had in another life had all that he’s faced never happened to him, but he’s gained so much more. He’s gained two families—his own, and the one he and Liam and the others have created for themselves. He’s learned what it means to love in every sense of the word. What it means to fight for yourself and everything you believe in. What it means to have something and someone worth fighting _for_. Like that dumb mantra he’d repeated to himself when he’d been so terrified he might lose it all again— _for Liam, for himself, for love_. But also for his family, for his friends, for all the ways that he’s learned and grown over the past two years and all the ways he’ll continue to for as long as he has that chance.

It’s more than he thought possible, more than he was even capable of thinking or conceiving of for himself just a couple of short years ago. But he has all of that now and you can damn well bet he’s gonna cherish it as much as he can for as long as he can.

Especially Liam. Getting these moments with Liam, even just being with Liam, is something he’d never take granted. Not before, not now, not ever. The fact that he even gets to have moments like this after everything is more than he could have ever asked for, more than he possibly deserves. But if the universe is willing to let him have this after all the fucked up shit it landed him in he’ll take it. He’ll take it and hold it close and cherish it like everything else for as long as he’s allowed.

So what is he thinking about in this moment? The answer is simple.

“How happy I am right now,” he says honestly. And he knows that that happiness won’t last forever, no matter how much he might want it to. That sooner or later reality is gonna come crashing down on them again. But right now in this moment it doesn’t much matter.

A lot’s happened. That can’t be denied. And no matter how much he tries to put it out of his head all of it hovers at the back of his mind, a rundown of events and their implications running on an incessant loop.

It’s been two weeks since the story broke about the program and everyone involved, and it’s all anyone’s been talking about on the news and online and pretty much everywhere. The good news is they finally stopped showing that stupid security camera footage from the petrol station with the program bombshell taking priority over nearly everything else. The bad news is it’s only a matter of time before the police or someone else in the know tracks him down because unfortunately in this story the bad guys weren’t the only ones who’d had to be worried about their secrets getting out.

With Harry’s contacts taking the lead on driving the narrative once the first tendrils of the story had started to leak though, Zayn and all the other operatives had been painted first and foremost as victims with any connections to their real identities kept out of the story for “privacy” and “safety.” Which in turn served to spur most other outlets who picked up the story to follow suit so that for the most part only the ones responsible for establishing the program and keeping it going were the ones that got publicly vilified.

There are still a few fringe outlets who’ve chosen not to follow the trend of course but they’re outliers. And because they’re not the main sources that Louis sent the details to they only have access to the information that’s been reported publicly by all the other outlets. Which means that despite how they’ve tried to lay the blame for what went down on Zayn and the other operatives as equally as they have the bigwigs behind it, they’ve got no means of actually calling anyone out personally besides the bigwigs themselves.

So for now the only ones who even know his real identity are the ones who are bound by law to protect it—the trusted sectors of the government and law enforcement who’ve been working tirelessly to bring everyone involved to justice since the story first broke. All it would take is one crooked cop or government official to blow his cover but it hasn’t happened yet and all he can really hope for is that it doesn’t. At least not until he’s ready.

Because he’s given it a lot of thought over the last two weeks as he’s watched everything play out. Watched people he knows are guilty still find a way to spin things as if they didn’t know exactly what was going on or weren’t as involved as he knows they were. And if they can sway the larger public to make them buy their lies so easily even in the face of what should’ve been irrefutable proof they can certainly find a way to sway—or even pay off—a jury to get them off scot-free.

The only way to make sure they _really_ pay—without any of their loopholes or pay-offs or bogus sentences that don’t require them to actually do any real time—is for him to come forward. To lay it all out before a jury and hope that they _see_ the real injustice that was done—not just the sound bites and truncated summaries, censored and boiled down for easier public consumption, but the _real ugly truth_ of everything they endured—and do what’s right. Put them all away once and for all to serve the time they deserve for all of the evil they committed in the name of money and power and scientific advancement.

But those are all things to ruminate over later, when he’s ready to think about them again. He’s not worried about that right now. For now all of it can stay in the periphery where it belongs, in the recesses of his mind. Because right now all that matters is that he gets to be _here_ , with Liam, warm and safe and, most importantly, happy.

*

Zayn’s in the shower when he hears the bathroom door creak open, Liam’s soft footfalls padding across the floor. He doesn’t think much of it because it’s not unusual for Liam to come in and brush his teeth or take a piss while Zayn’s showering or for Zayn to do the same when it’s Liam in the shower. But he is a bit startled when the shower curtain’s suddenly being pushed back and Liam’s stepping swiftly over the side of the tub to crowd inside with him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Liam says, shivering and scrambling back when the spray hits him. “Christ, it’s fucking _freezing_ in here.”

Zayn barks out a laugh which only ends up dissolving into giggles because Liam looks a bit like a wet dog standing there at the back of the tub hunched over and shivering with wide, bewildered eyes like _Zayn_ was the one that forced him into the cold shower.

“Sorry,” Zayn says between giggles, not really sorry at all. But he turns the hot tap on anyway, still laughing.

It had been one of those mornings where he hadn’t much cared which temperature the water was at. But as entertaining as it is to see Liam looking like an adorably pitiful wet puppy he doesn’t actually want him to go now that he’s here.

“Better?” Zayn says a few moments later when the water’s started to warm up a bit.

Liam sticks a tentative hand out under the cascade of water to test it. “Much.” And then he’s unraveling his arms from around himself and stepping forward, mumbling, “You’re awful.”

Zayn chuckles again. “Not my fault you decided to come in here with no warning.”

Liam pouts. “I was _trying_ to surprise you.”

“Top marks for managing it cause I definitely didn’t see it coming. Also gotta give you bonus points though for managing to shock yourself too,” Zayn says with another laugh.

“I hate you,” Liam gripes, still pouting. It’s not doing anything to help his case with the wet puppy look.

“Even if I make it up to you with hot shower sex?” Zayn with a smirk and a quirk of his brows, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Liam’s neck.

“I _might_ be able to be persuaded.”

Zayn leans in for a searing kiss in answer and in the next moment Liam’s wrapping arms around his waist and lifting him up, hoisting Zayn’s legs around him as he leans Zayn up against the wall.

“Menace,” Liam grumbles, leaning in for another kiss and swallowing Zayn’s answering laugh as he goes.

*

“I think I want to start a foundation,” Zayn announces one weekend afternoon when they’re all in the park, just the six of them. They’re in a secluded little area mostly blocked off by a row of trees, beer cans and countless bottles of alcohol spread out around the edges of the blanket they’re all sat on and he might be a little bit drunk. But he’s also been thinking about it for a while now and it’s the best way he can of think to help the other operatives, especially with his own future still so uncertain.

If he can start something _now_ , before things start to get too complicated for him, then at least there’ll be something in place, systems and stuff to help them even if things go in a way where _he_ can no longer help them himself.

The others snort and laugh, probably just assuming he’s taking the piss or spewing nonsense because he’s drunk but he shakes his head.

“No, I’m serious,” he says and it doesn’t help that it comes out a bit whiny, only makes him sound drunker and a bit like a petulant child. “Like…” he starts, pausing a moment to try and figure out how best to explain, but he loses his train of thought before he can get any more words out and he might be drunker than he thought.

The others all dissolve into more fits of laughter but he just takes a breath and starts again.

“No, _listen_ …I want to, like…something for the other operatives…so…they can, like…um…have stuff and—”

“Bro,” Louis says, long and drawn out, slapping a lazy hand over Zayn’s shoulder and slurring his words a bit, “that soundssss like an _ace_ idea, but we’re all kind of…ssssuper drunk right now, ‘specially you, so maaaaybe like…ssave it for sober time, yeah?”

“Okay,” he says a little dejectedly, nodding solemnly before taking another swig from the bottle of whiskey that was bought solely for him. It’s his second one. Which in hindsight was probably what should’ve tipped him off to the fact that he was way drunker than he’d initially thought. But in all fairness it hadn’t really fully hit him until he’d started talking so.

He’s also randomly a little bit horny and it’s not helping that Liam keeps looking at him like he wants to eat him so they should maybe go home now before things start getting a bit too X-rated in front of their friends.

Liam seems to get the hint without him even saying anything and the next thing Zayn knows Liam’s standing and pulling Zayn up with him, muttering half-arsed excuses over his shoulder as they drift away, heading back in the direction of their flat.

Louis’ right. He’ll save his announcement for sober time when he can actually explain properly. Right now he’s got better things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shower scene inspired by [this tumblr post](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/170712531098/imagineyourotp-imagine-person-a-of-your-otp)
> 
> [playlist additions](https://open.spotify.com/user/12101105796/playlist/13rgXffY8L8EXplTIgeV2Y?si=W8-tqhQVR_69Tgy_OqX0Rw) \- for you, i like me better, get low (literally only because “my chest is your pillow” is basically liam’s theme song through the entirety of this fic [and the end of the first fic too]...oh and also a little bit cause of the brief shower scene lol) 
> 
> so we’ve reached the end of the emotional roller coaster, for now at least…hope everybody made it with their hair and limbs still attached, sorry for any wigs that may have gotten snatched lol jk i’m not that iconic, no matter how much i might wish i was, anyway happy friday and i hope everyone has a great stress-free weekend! :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off topic but in case you missed it, the outtakes/deleted scenes fic has a [new chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026617/chapters/32716329)!

_Liam_

Those first few days after getting shot are rough. Liam goes through the days weak and light-headed and more tired than usual and can’t muster up the energy to do much of anything for too long before he starts feeling woozy and unsteady on his feet or has to go have a lie down.

It’s made a little easier though when one of those days he wakes up to an amazing morning blowjob.

His half-asleep, confused “Babe, wha—” immediately dissolves into a moan, but Zayn still pulls off to explain anyway.

“S’to help you feel better,” he says with a smile that somehow manages to look both sweet and wicked at the same time.

Liam just moans again as Zayn swallows him back down not even a moment later. Needless to say it’s a very, _very_ good morning.

*

Things are pretty steady for the next few weeks after that. Or as much as they can be anyway with everything that’s going on.

Zayn’s not happy with the way things end up getting handled with the other operatives once the cops bust all the bases—including the school, a previously abandoned asylum, more bunkers, and an old military hospital that had been presumed shutdown, most of them in relatively remote areas. And Liam will admit it had been pretty disheartening to see the news footage of them all being loaded up into police vans at gunpoint, even if it was just a precautionary measure on the cops’ parts and the operatives weren’t actually being handcuffed or treated like prisoners.

It only spurs Zayn on to get things going on his plan for putting together a foundation though. He’s been saving up what he can of his wages that he doesn't use to help Liam out with rent and groceries and Liam and all the others have been contributing what they can too. Even both their families had agreed to pitch in once Zayn had explained to them all what he wanted to do.

They’ve talked it all over as a group a few times now and Louis’ already signed on to take charge of all IT-related matters, like setting up a website and an app, and eventually spearheading the search to find former operatives’ friends and families using his own computer programs once they start getting things properly set up. Harry’s been helping Zayn write up his business proposal so they can they can try to get approved for funding and actually get this thing off the ground and running. And Sarah’s agreed to head up with facilitating connections to mental healthcare professionals and programs that might potentially be willing to work with or partner with them. Liam and Niall don’t really have any set rolls as of yet. Though Sarah had joked that Niall could be their spokesperson and social liaison since he likes to talk so much. And Harry had made the suggestion that Liam could finally maybe have the chance to put his social work degree to use by keeping tabs on cases and facilitating meetings to connect former operatives with their families once they’re located, until they’re stable enough return home permanently.

Liam’s still thinking it over but if he’s honest it’s exactly the kind of job he’d been hoping to land out of uni instead of the crappy administrative assistant one he’d been practically forced to take to keep himself from going homeless way back when. It’s risky though since with the foundation functioning more as a non-profit he likely wouldn’t be making very much money for a while until things start taking off and they get a few good sponsors to back them. _If_ they do. Unlike the others though, his role, if he decides to take it, would be more of a full-time thing so he wouldn’t be able to keep working his insurance company job at the same time, which means it’s bit more of a risk for him than it is for the others.

But he’s got time to think about it. Because they still have a good long while before they can even get started doing _anything_ what with the business proposal not even being finished yet. And also all of them needing to take time to scope out spaces for lease together, so they can have an actual physical location to head things up at, plus getting in office and technological supplies like desks and phones and computers and things.

They’ve certainly got their work cut out for them with this undertaking, that’s for sure. But it’s worth it. Or at least it will be, once they eventually get all the paperwork and housekeeping and financial stuff out of the way and can finally get on to the helping people part.

*

It’s a quiet Thursday evening and Liam’s stood by the couch as he scrolls through his phone, half leaning against it, but feeling a bit restless and not much like sitting down yet. Zayn’s still out on a shift but due home soon, Liam having just finished up cooking them both a dinner of chicken alfredo for when Zayn gets here. He’s only just sent off a text telling Zayn not to eat any crack burgers before leaving work or stop for takeaway on the way home when he suddenly gets a call from a number he doesn’t recognize.

“Liam Payne?” says a gruff-sounding voice on the other end of the line.

“…Yes?” Liam says a little hesitantly, abruptly standing up straight.

“This is Detective Inspector Hannon. You probably don’t remember me but we last spoke when I was working the—”

“I remember,” Liam says, voice terse to try and hide the fact that he’s suddenly incredibly anxious over what this could be about.

“Right, well…I’m one of the detectives working the Shadow Program Case—you know, the one that’s been all over the news lately?”

The Shadow Program Case, that’s what they’ve been calling it in all the articles and nightly news stories.

“I know of it, yes. Pretty sure pretty much everyone does. May I ask what exactly this is about?”

“I’m afraid it’s not a matter I can disclose the details of over the phone. It’s a bit sensitive, you understand. But I was hoping I could maybe get you to come down to the station to clarify a few things.”

“Oh, um…” Liam swallows. This is exactly the kind of thing he was hoping _wouldn’t_ happen.

Hannon seems to sense his hesitation though because in explanation he says, “Don’t worry. It’ll be off the record. Just some minor things to help…connect the dots a bit, so to speak. You’re not in any kind of trouble if that’s what you’re worried about.”

And Liam wants to ask him what the hell he knows because despite the fact that that was clearly meant to be comforting it only leaves him feeling even more on edge. But he can’t exactly turn him down without making himself look even more suspicious.

“O-okay. I can, um…I can maybe come in this weekend.”

“Perfect. How’s, uh…how’s Saturday at say…two work for you?”

“Um, yeah, I can, um…I can do that.”

“Alright, great. I’ll see you then. Have a good night, Mr. Payne.”

“Th-thanks, you too.”

Hannon hangs up and Liam drops down to the couch.

Fuck.

He could always just…not show up. But if they still have his number then they probably still have his address on file too, so they could just come to him whenever they wanted anyway. Not to mention that would only make him look more suspicious still, like he had something to hide. He could just lie. Not tell them the truth about whatever it is they want to know. But then again that’s never really been his strong suit either.

Alternatively, it could just be nothing like Hannon said. Just some random follow-up questions about what happened at the bank or something all that time ago. With all the details they’re sure to have on the program they’ve probably made the connection by now that the bank incident was related. So it could be that’s all this is about and Liam’s panicking over nothing.

But he won’t know for sure unless he goes. And he _has_ to go if he doesn’t want to cast any undue suspicion on himself.

*

Zayn makes the drive to the police station with him. Sits guard in the car less than half a block down, promising to listen in and, if need be, bust down the doors to break Liam out if it starts to seem like anything funny’s about to happen.

He’s only half-joking, but Liam’s pretty sure it won’t come to that. At the most they might just threaten him, depending on what they know, to try and get information on Zayn. So if anything he’s more worried about them getting to Zayn and something happening to _him_ than he is about himself. But he wills himself to keep moving forward anyway, up the stairs and through the doors despite how much he wants to just run right back to the car and drive away with Zayn.

The same woman as last time is sat at the front desk taking calls when he walks in and he waits for a lull in the near-continuous phone ringing before he speaks up.

“Hi, Liam Payne, here to see Detective Inspector Hannon.”

She nods, punching in a few numbers on the phone’s keypad and speaking into the receiver. “Yes, sir, I have a Liam Payne here to see you.” And then to Liam a moment later, “He’ll be with you in just a moment if you’ll just have a seat over there.”

Liam goes to sit in one of the chairs in the little waiting area by the wall off to the side and it feels a bit like déjà vu, but still he tries to remain as calm as he can. It’s not very long before Hannon appears, greeting him politely and then leading him back down the same corridor as before except that this time instead of going to an interrogation room Hannon directs Liam to his personal office.

There’s a large wooden desk with a computer and a stack of papers pushed messily to one side like he was in a rush trying the clear space. The rest of the desk top is clear, Hannon pulling up a chair from the corner to sit in front of the desk and gesturing for Liam to take a seat. Then he takes his own seat behind the desk and pulls a folder from atop the stack of papers, sliding it toward himself and flipping it open. He stares down at the papers there for a moment, tapping the pen he’d picked up along the way against the topmost paper in a bit of a nervous habit before he finally looks up at Liam.

“What all do you know about this program?” he says, neither eyes nor tone revealing anything of what _he_ might know, what he might be looking for.

Liam shrugs, going for nonchalance. “Same as everyone else. What they’ve been saying on the news.”

Hannon leans back in his chair, pen held lengthwise between the fingers of both hands under his chin as he looks at Liam critically like he’s mulling something over.

“You’ve not lived here in the city very long, yeah?”

Liam shrugs again. “Few years. Moved here for uni, never left.”

Hannon shifts, sitting up a little straighter, moving to balance the capped end of his pen against the desk upright with a finger held to the other end, twirling it in place a bit, contemplatively. “Right, but you’re originally from Wolverhampton,” he says and it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Yeah,” Liam says anyway.

“When I asked you before if you’d ever been questioned by the police you said you had.” And again it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Yeah,” Liam says again.

Hannon taps the pen against the topmost paper in the folder again, eyes still on Liam. “2005, was it? Friend of yours went missing?”

“Mm-hmm.” Liam nods, shifting a bit in his seat.

“Name was Zayn? Zayn Malik?”

“Yeah.” Liam nods again, feeling his heartbeat pick up a bit at the mention of Zayn’s name.

“They never found him, correct?”

“No.” Liam swallows.

“Zayn,” Hannon repeats. “Zayn…s’funny it sounds suspiciously close to sane or…insane, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” Liam says, swallowing again.

“S’exactly what the other witnesses of the bank heist remembered you saying as I seem to recall.”

“Um, I don’t—I don’t really remember. Like I said then, those last few minutes before I went down were kind of fuzzy.”

Hannon sets the pen down flat beside the folder, regarding him critically again before he says, “You’re not on trial here, you know, Liam. May I call you Liam?”

“Um, yeah, that’s, um, that’s fine.”

“Right, well, like I said before this is off the record. Just you and me. I’m just trying to get my facts straight is all.” He glances back down at the papers in front of him, lays a hand over them as he looks them over again briefly before returning his gaze to Liam. “So…2005 your mate Zayn goes missing. Right around the same time this…program thing was getting started back up for a second time. Then in 2016, you get caught up in the middle of a bank heist where witnesses claim they heard you say something that sounds suspiciously close to your long-lost mate’s name. Then two years after that the story about this so-called program breaks seemingly out of nowhere. Right on the heels of a petrol station robbery where a man seeming to display almost superhuman abilities took down five armed men and women with ease and helped get everyone out with the aid of another man caught on camera who in my opinion seems to share quite a lot of the same physical features as you, both of whom left the scene without a trace before any questions could be asked and then refused to come forward and take credit for their heroic acts, even though pretty much anyone else in their positions would have gladly accepted the praise. So. I’m going to ask you again, what all do you know about this program?”

Liam stays silent, and he knows it only makes him look more guilty that he’s avoiding Hannon’s gaze but he can’t help it. He’s definitely nervous now, reflexes acting on instinct as his eyes dart away, everywhere but at Hannon’s face.

When the silence has stretched on for too long Hannon sighs, suddenly looking a bit weary as he leans forward over his desk and looks Liam right in the eyes.

“Look, Liam, I’m not after you, okay? Or him, for that matter. I just want the truth. The only people I’m actually dead-set on going after right now are the people responsible for this whole mess. And I know that’s not him. And it’s obviously not you. I know that you’re probably just trying to protect him, but you don’t have to. No one’s coming after him anymore, yeah? Not if I can help it. _I_ just want to know what _you_ know. Because right now all I have are a team of bewildered detectives, scores of journalists breathing down my neck, and a bunch of photos and documents full of overcomplicated jargon that doesn’t tell me the whole story, or even half of it to be honest, and to be quite frank with you this case…it’s driving me mad.

“I mean, I’ve seen some shit in my days but _this_ …I don’t even know where to begin…I mean, even putting aside the nightmarish-level horrors that were involved here, I’m…I’m up to my eyeballs in evidence that I don’t even know what to do with,” Hannon pauses shaking his head, shoulders sagging a bit in exhaustion. “And as if that wasn’t enough, on top of that I’ve got hundreds of people who don’t even remember their own names, half of them kids no older than fifteen, and even more desperate families calling in trying to find out if _their_ missing kid might be one of the victims. I’ve got a team of IT guys working round the clock with crappy old family photos and school pictures using aging up software to try to see if _anything_ matches up with the photos _we’ve_ got on file of both the living and deceased victims. I’ve got people calling _my_ personal office phone every second of the goddamn day instead of the main police station line or even the hotline like they’re supposed to, hoping they can get some sort of information or update out of me that they can’t get from someone else at the hotline who might _actually_ know their case file.

“My work cell rings so much it’s not even worth keeping it on anymore because it dies within a couple of hours every time and it literally never stops ringing when it _is_ on because as soon as one person gives up that opens the line up for another one and at this point I’m convinced someone is out there posting pictures of the business cards I’ve given to anyone I’ve talked to for past cases all over social media because that’s the only way so many people could even get my access to my work cell number, so, yes, I’m…I’m very stressed, and I don’t mean to rant or put all of this on you, but I would just really appreciate it if you could just cooperate with me, be straight with me, so I can maybe do something to help catch these guys and give these kids and these families the justice they deserve. Do you think you can do that for me, Liam? Do you think you can work with me just for a while so I can get all this straight and take these guys down for good?”

Liam falters, mouth opening to speak but unsure what to say. He’d been half convinced before that Hannon really was after Zayn, trying to somehow find a way to pin this all on him but _this_ —the rant, the desperation, the _everything_ —was not at all what he was expecting.

“I…” he starts and then stops again, still not quite sure of what to say. And then finally, “I can do that, yeah.”

Hannon sighs but this time it seems more like relief instead of exhaustion or exasperation. “Thank you,” he says, tired eyes boring into Liam’s with sincerity.

He spins and slides the folder across to Liam and Liam sees that it’s full of written-up reports and files from program personnel, photos of operatives and Handlers that look more like mug shots than anything, captioned with their designations and brief physical descriptions, and even ranks for the operatives.

“What can you tell me about all of this?” Hannon says.

*

In the end Liam ends up calling Zayn in to help because after all there’s only so much he himself knows and understands. Zayn’s much more knowledgeable obviously about the ins and outs of all of this and what it means. And once it had become clear that Hannon wasn’t actually after Liam or Zayn but really just desperate and looking for information to help him put all the puzzle pieces together it didn’t make much sense to keep Zayn hidden away from him.

Which is how the three of them end up poured over files in Hannon’s office well into the early hours of the middle of the night; Zayn explaining everything he knows about what certain terms mean and what purpose certain files and reports might have been used for and how it connects back to this or that person’s personnel designation and on and on and on. And Hannon’s still got mountains of more files to go through that he’ll likely need their help with. But at least now he can make a dent in connecting some of the identities and companies and money funnels of the smaller entities—the ones that hadn’t already been identified when the information first got released and the first snippets of the story broke—with their crimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know not much happened in this one but hope you still enjoyed!
> 
> [Again a link to the [newest chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026617/chapters/32716329) of the outtakes/deleted scenes fic]
> 
> Comments and Kudos = LOVE :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! Hope you all are enjoying 'Let Me' as much as I am! :)

_Zayn_

“I hate it,” Louis says as they all walk out of the fourth building they’ve looked at today.

“Not to side with Louis, but…that place was shit,” Sarah agrees looking around at them all with an unapologetic expression on her face as if to say _well_ , _someone had to say it_.

“But it’s not about how it looks _now_ ,” Harry argues.

“Yeah, you know, it’s about the potential,” Niall agrees. “When I first bought the property for The Craic it was pretty shit too, but look at it now. Looks great if I do say so myself.” He beams a bit proudly.

“Yeah, well, not to burst your little happy-go-lucky bubbles, mates, but even this place’s potential is shit,” Louis says, glancing back up at the building from where they all stand crowded on the pavement a few feet out from the door.

“Yeah, agreed,” Zayn says glancing up with Louis. “If we’re gonna settle, it would have made more sense to settle with that one we saw last week with all the windows, seeing as that one was at least a little nicer than this dump. But I’d rather not just settle, you know? Like I want it to be someplace where people feel comfortable and welcome and stuff, and this place definitely wasn’t that.”

“Well, we’ve still got plenty more to check out,” Liam says with a hopeful glint to his tone. “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says trying for hopeful too despite the fact that if he’s totally honest with himself he’s starting to feel a bit dejected. This is their third building hunting trip in as many weeks and nothing they’ve found feels quite right. He’s starting to think they might just have to settle after all even though he really doesn’t want to. But at this point with such limited options left he’s not sure they’ll have much of a choice.

*

Zayn’s on his way home from a shift when he gets a call from Danny.

“Hey, haven't heard from you in a while.”

There’s a brief shuffle on the other end that sounds like furniture moving and then Danny’s voice comes through. “Yeah, with everything that's been going on I've just been trying to kinda lay low, you know? Keep an eye out…”

“Yeah, I get that,” Zayn says. “I know it probably won’t really help you feel any better but…you should know they’re not really going after most of the personnel, it’s really just the bigwigs they want—the main Doctors, the benefactors and visitors, the higher-ups, those sorts. They’re not even really after the lower Doctors or even the Nurses I don’t think since most of them weren’t willing participants anyway. And as far as they know, you and pretty much all the other Handlers from our old base are dead. They’ve got no reason to come looking for you.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…paranoia I guess. I’m too used to looking over my shoulder, you know? It’s hard to believe that this might actually all be over. Like I _want_ to believe it is obviously, but a part of me just can’t shut off the residual fear I guess.”

“I know.” Zayn sighs. “Me neither. I mean I’m right in the middle of it, practically _telling_ them who to arrest, and I still can’t believe it. Sometimes…sometimes it all still feels a bit like a dream…like I just made all this up, you know, like created this whole elaborate fantasy in my head, and I’m just gonna wake up and be right back there in my bunk lining up for feeding time. Sometimes I even think…I know it’s crazy, but sometimes I think…what if I’m still on that table…like what if this is all just some made-up universe or timeline my brain dreamed up to distract me from the pain and any minute now I’m gonna wake up on that table and find out it’s only been an hour instead of two years and none of this was real.”

“Well, I’d pinch if you I could, but I can’t, so you’ll have to do it yourself,” Danny says and he sounds a bit out of breath as the faint sound of wood grating on wood rings out. “If this is a dream though you sure dreamed up a pretty nice life for yourself. And me. I mean, you gave yourself an, objectively speaking, _very_ attractive boyfriend who’s literally like the perfect human, some pretty great mates, myself included. And you also gave _me_ an amazing, beautiful girlfriend, so no complaints from the dream-me.”

Zayn laughs. “She’s there now, isn’t she? Is she making you re-arrange the furniture again?”

“Yes and yes. But let the record stand that my statement remains true regardless.”

“It better!” Zayn hears her cheery voice call from the background, and then, “Hi, Zayn!”

“Hi!” Zayn calls back, shaking his head at Danny good-naturedly even though Danny can’t see him, and still he’s laughing despite himself. “Well, it was really good to hear your voice.”

“You too, mate. You alright otherwise? Everything good with Liam and Co. and with the family and work and stuff?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s really good. You?”

“Tip top!” he says, voice strained again.

“Yeah? You sure?” Zayn inquires, only just barely holding back another laugh.

“Yeah…yeah, you know…heavy sofas notwithstanding,” he pipes, voice unnaturally high. “All good. Tell the others I say hey, and talk more soon, yeah?”

“Sure thing.”

Zayn’s smiling even as he hangs up, already feeling lighter and so much less tense than he was just few minutes ago. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d needed to get that off his chest. And it’s not as if he’d been purposefully holding it back with Liam or anything. It’s just sometimes it’s nice to be able to just say something dark without feeling like he needs to be coddled or comforted for it. Not that he doesn’t want that too of course, because it’s nice when he needs it or wants it, but sometimes he just doesn’t. And those are the times he’s most thankful to have Danny who’ll just let him say his piece, no matter how fucked up it might be, and then make a joke and move on. And just like that everything feels right side up again.

*

It’s the second to last one of all the available properties to lease in their price range that had been in their list and this is _The One_. He can feel it the moment they walk in. He can _see_ them here. Picture everything all set up and running, all of them in action, as clearly as if it was in front of him.

Louis heading up a team of IT correspondents, pacing back and forth barking orders at them all at their desks while half-yelling at someone else on the phone through a headset. Niall and Harry walking past the doorway of the ground floor area, leading a group of sponsors and journalists through the corridors for a tour of the building. Sarah greeting and welcoming an operative and their family into one of the side rooms for a therapy consultation. Liam in the top floor office with a big desk, peaking his head out at his own team of social work correspondents to check-in on them and make sure everything’s going okay; bobbing around to each person’s desk to make conversation and check on individual files. Zayn himself holding meetings with as many former operatives as can make it, in one of the other large rooms that looks like it could be used as a rec space; where he can give guidance and they can all have someplace to share their memories and experiences and bond, kind of like an AA meeting for operatives—OA.

Yeah, he likes the sound of that. Operatives anonymous. It’s a bit like an inside joke seeing as they already all kind of _were_ anonymous as operatives. A bit like making light of all the shit they went through in a way that’s fitting for them. Hopefully the other operatives—if this all works out—will see the joke in it too and get a bit of a kick out of it like him.

The best part though is that every single room has windows, not all of them large, but most, enough to let a good amount of light in and give a nice view of the city and the sky even when it’s not necessarily sunny out. It’s about as opposite to a bunker as you can get. And even for the newer ones who’ve only known a school, or the others from the different bases, it’ll still be nice to be in a place with big open spaces and comfy chairs instead of windowless side rooms or cramped classrooms lined with as many desks and people as will fit or pristine chemical-smelling hospital rooms. No matter how they ultimately end up setting things up everywhere will have plenty of breathing room. Even the rooms that the other former operatives won’t necessarily be frequenting themselves. Because when they see it, even if it’s just a glance, in passing, through the doorway of an office or any room they happen to pass by, it needs to feel open, inviting, _safe_. Like a sanctuary. This needs to be a place where everything and everywhere and everyone inside always feels _safe_. And it will be.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Liam says with a grin when he catches sight of Zayn’s face after they’ve come back down to the ground level and are standing in the open space there, sunlight pouring in through the large windows.

“This is it,” Zayn agrees with a soft nod, unable to keep his own grin off his face now.

“Good cause if you had turned down this place I was gonna hit you over the head,” Louis says with a haughty set to his chin.

Zayn snorts. “Would’ve liked to see you try.”

“So?” says the realtor lady as she saunters back toward them, having wanted to give them a bit of space to survey the area again and talk things over amongst themselves. “What do we think?”

“Well, Jane, we’ve talked it over,” Harry says in an overly serious businessy tone, “and…we’re saying yes to the dress.”

Louis sighs, rolling his eyes. “ _Honestly_ , after all this time you’d think he’d pick up a thing or two and learn how to actually come up with a decent joke. He does live with the Sassmaster after all,” he grumbles lowly, low enough that the only other person besides Zayn close enough to hear is Liam, who’s standing closest to Louis.

They both studiously ignore him.

Harry shakes the woman’s hand and then they’re all signing the lease and it’s _real_. It’s _theirs_. Everything suddenly feeling as if it’s coming together.

They’ve still got a lot to do of course. They’ve only just submitted the proposal and are still waiting to hear back and they’ve still got all their equipment and supplies to buy, plus actually getting set-up and hiring a few other workers to start, to try and get things off the ground. But the first huge step is done. This is _happening_. No matter how things turn out with the proposal, they’ve got enough money set aside for now to at least get things started on their own. And with any luck, and with Niall and Harry’s skills to boot, they’ll have more people behind them in no time. They can only go forward from here.

*

Later when they’ve all gone down to The Craic to celebrate with drinks, Niall makes about five thousand toasts, of which Zayn actually interrupts to make one of his own because yeah he’s proud. Even if he is still a bit in disbelief that this is actually all happening, all coming together, or starting to anyway. He’s just so incredibly happy and thankful in this moment for everyone in his life, for how lucky he is to have them all. And it’s probably in large part the bottle of scotch and half a bottle of vodka talking but as sappy as it may be he just needs to let them know that.

And when night rolls around and upstairs get opened up and they’re all off their arses from all the endless rounds of drinks they’ve had they all go bounding up to dance, Zayn following. He watches from the sidelines of the upstairs bar for a while, enjoying the show of bad dancing. But he’s so high on life he doesn’t even mind when Liam eventually comes over to drag him out to the dance floor with them.

He still doesn’t do much dancing at first, more content to just sway a bit good-naturedly while he watches Liam. But then Liam comes in close, moving right against him, body pressed flush to his and hands on Zayn’s hips trying to get Zayn to really move to the beat with him.

“Come on, dance with me,” he says into Zayn’s ear, teasing. And then, lower, “If you’re nice maybe I’ll let you fuck me into the mattress later…”

And Zayn doesn’t need much more incentive than that.

*

It’s one of Zayn’s days off, Liam still at work for a few more hours, and he’s feeling antsy. Which is what ultimately pushes him into doing what he’s been thinking about doing for a while now. What he’s wanted to do pretty much since they first started working with Hannon.

“Zayn, hi,” Hannon says in a surprised rush when he glances up to find Zayn standing in his office doorway, a pile of papers laid out in front of him that he hurriedly pushes together and stacks up in a mostly neat pile in front of him, already looking to be reaching for another folder. “Sorry, I, um, I wasn’t expecting you…we didn’t have a meeting set for today, did we?”

“No…um, Laura let me through, I hope that’s okay,” Zayn says pointing a thumb over his shoulder to gesture back down the corridor. “Think she knows me and Liam’s faces by heart now so she just kind of waved me by as soon as she saw me.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s alright,” Hannon says nodding and leaning across the desk to rifle through another stack of files pushed to the side as Zayn pulls up a chair. “Was there something else you wanted to look back at from our last meeting? I know you’d mentioned before there was that one set of e-mails in particular that you’d wanted to take a second look at sometime. Just gimme a sec to pull out the right folder and…”

“Um, no, actually I’m…I’m here to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh. Alright, shoot,” Hannon says, pulling back from his rifling and sitting up straight. He looks haggard, even more so than the last couple of times Zayn’s been here, dark circles under his eyes, face drawn, beard a bit ragged, and a slightly resigned set to his broad shoulders.

“You’ve mentioned stuff before about…about the other operatives and I just…I wondered, um…where they are? Like, I know they’re kind of stretched out at different places, but…I don’t know _where_ and… I’m sure there’s probably a bunch of stuff you can’t tell me cause of the ongoing investigation and everything but I thought if you could just tell me something, or…I don’t know, I…” Zayn trails off, shakes his head. “Sorry, I—this is probably a waste of time, I shouldn’t have come here, I know you probably can’t tell me anything—”

“No, I—well, you’re right. Technically, I can’t. Or…I shouldn’t,” Hannon starts, pulling out a slip of paper and a pen, “but if there’s anyone who might be able to get the others talking, it’s you. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this job all these years it’s that sometimes you gotta bend the rules just a little to get things done. Can’t tell you how many cases would’ve went cold if I’d followed all the rules straight as an arrow every time. Sometimes the only way to get anywhere is to toe the line, you know? Go a bit outside the rules to get what you need to get done and hope that no one’s the wiser.”

Zayn nods, smirks a bit. “Trust me, I know better than you think.”

“I’ll bet,” Hannon says with a remorseful smile, handing Zayn the slip off paper he’s just finished scribbling a note on. “They’re technically still in police custody for legal reasons but we couldn’t exactly put them all in the cells here—not that that would’ve been right anyway given everything they’ve already been through—so for now we’ve got them stretched out across hospital psych wards throughout the city and the few private facilities who were willing to take them on. The whole thing’s a mess honestly. _We’re_ flooded, the hospitals are flooded, the newspapers are flooded, whether it’s with actual bodies or just calls and information, we’re all flooded and we’re all drowning. The hospitals don’t know what to do with them, _we_ don’t know what to do with them _or_ all the information we’ve got, although that’s changing a bit now thanks to you and Liam, but honestly we’ve all just kind of been scrambling like chickens with their heads cut off. No one was prepared for any of this, much less equipped to deal with the fallout, you know?

“But anyway that’s the address of the facility where a few of the others from your former team have been placed,” Hannon says, nodding to the note. “They thought it best to keep as many of them from the same teams together as they could. Lessen the shock of readjustment and all that. Your former teammate, Twenty-two, the one you told me about who was one of the only ones still around from the first ‘iteration’ or whatever, he’s there. Tried to go and talk about him but…couldn’t get much out of him.” Hannon shrugs. “You might have better luck than I did though. After all you know better than any of us ever could how their minds work. So far trying to talk to any of them has been pretty much a dead end for us, s’almost like talking to a brick wall…but if _you_ can get them talking, saying something more than just rote responses, maybe we could see about making this official too. Bringing you on as, like, translator or interlocutor or something in addition to the consultant thing we’ve already got going with you and Liam.”

“Thank you,” Zayn says sincerely, gripping the piece of paper in his hands, unsure how to voice what this means to him. “ _Really_ , I…you didn’t have to do this for me.”

Hannon shrugs again, lips quirking up in a half-rueful smile. “Yeah, well it’s a bit of a self-serving favor on my part seeing as if you do make any headway it’ll help our whole investigation. But it’s also the right thing to do and you deserve to see them and know they’re okay. Don’t go using your wily ways to sneak in though, I know some people over there I can reach out to so just give me a chance to call ahead and I can arrange a meeting for you off the books.”

Zayn huffs a laugh. “Alright, I’ll make sure to keep my grappling hook safely tucked away for now.” And then, on a more serious note. “But, um…speaking of making sure they’re okay. There’s actually…something else I wanted to talk to you about too…something I might need your help on…if you’re willing. See, I’ve, um, I’ve had this idea that me and my friends are trying to get off the ground…you know, to—to help the others like me, but we don’t exactly have all the necessary connections. I was thinking though that if…if someone like _you_ were to back us, and…maybe even help us a bit going forward when we eventually get things going, if you’re willing to that is, then maybe it might help sway certain other parties to join our cause and make us look more…reputable in the eyes of the public.”

Hannon leans forward a bit in his seat, clearly intrigued. “Mmm. And this idea is?”

“Well, it doesn’t exactly have an official name yet, but for the moment we’re tentatively calling it the Foundation for the Recovery Effort for Ex-Operatives. FREE for short, or just the Foundation since that’s what we mostly end up calling it more than anything else, but anyway the goal is…”

And Zayn tells him everything. Well, everything they’ve come up with tentatively so far anyway that he’s willing to be forthcoming about. All their plans for the different domains they plan to focus on in helping the operatives, the psychological and social support, the continued search for their families, their eventual reintegration into society, and all the people and organizations and programs they’re hoping to get support from and partner with.

Hannon says he’ll need to think it over but Zayn can see in the set of his face already that Hannon’s interested, maybe even a bit eager if he’s not reading that wrong, and it makes him hopeful. Hannon can be a bit tricky to read sometimes, probably so used to having to keep a straight face through the worst of things, like Zayn, that it’s become almost second nature at this point not to let too much show on his face. Whether the eagerness Zayn thinks he sees though is at the idea of finally getting the other operatives the real hands-on help they need and deserve; or at the idea of being able pass on some of the stressors of figuring out how to deal with them and all the complications that come with them onto Zayn and the Foundation, or some combination of the two, is another question. But he supposes in the long run it doesn’t really matter.

*

The walls and floors of the psych ward are pristine. White and grey with the faint lingering smell of cleaning chemicals hanging in the air and right away it reminds him too much of the bunker. This is exactly the kind of thing he wants to make sure they have the opposite of once they get things with the Foundation going. Whoever they end up partnering with for the psych facility domain of things he’s making sure it’s places with bright colors and lots of wide open spaces and no hospital beds or bars on the windows or big heavy doors that make you feel like you’re being locked away for a life sentence when they shut. And definitely no doctors and nurses in white lab coats and plain scrubs. It may seem like a weird rule to anyone else but whoever they end up working with he’s instituting the rule right away that if they’re working with the operatives they’re only allowed to wear patterned scrubs, the crazier the better, and colored lab coats too, no pristine white.

He makes his way through the plain narrow corridors in the direction the woman at the front desk told him to go until he gets to the right door and stops. Stands in front of it taking a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself as best he can to come face to face with the person on the other side for the first time outside of the program.

The door isn’t closed all the way, cracked open just a sliver and Zayn wonders if that was _his_ choice or someone else’s, one of the doctor’s or nurse’s. Or if he’s even reached the point yet where he’s making choices on his own. Zayn doesn’t bother knocking, knows there’d be no point and instead just pushes the door open gently, stepping inside.

Twenty-two is at the window, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back looking out through the gaps in the bars at what Zayn is pretty sure isn’t much of a view. This side of the hospital, along with the front and the other side, is flanked only by extensions of the car park. Only the back side has a view of the little bit of greenery in the courtyard area for patients to walk through. Not that Twenty-two would be one of the patients allowed to go out on walks. He’s still here under police custody technically, and while he may be awarded more freedoms now than he would have in the bunker or at the school while still in the program it’s not much in the grand scheme of things. They can’t risk losing custody of him after all because even besides the fact that he’s technically a witness, with the way public sentiment is starting to sway at the moment it would probably cause a panic on the streets if people were to find out one of them was loose.

As much as Harry and his connections had tried to spin things to put the operatives in less of a negative light they couldn’t stop the dissenters from eventually coming out of the woodwork and taking hold of public sentiment. And Zayn had known that the good wouldn’t last for long, that there was always a good chance things wouldn’t go the way they hoped. As much as he appreciates the others’ optimism he’s seen people’s true colors too many times to be as trusting and hopeful as they all are. Well, barring Sarah and Louis, that is. Louis’ got a healthy sense of cynicism on his side that kind of keeps him on the fence of being too optimistic, and Sarah’s seen too much shit in her line of work. But while the advantage of getting ahead of the story had been nice while it lasted it could only last for so long before more and more people started to let their real feelings on the situation out. Which only makes their jobs that much harder in the long run as far as getting the Foundation up and running and garnering support but they’d all known what they were signing up for with this, that it would be more of an uphill battle than anything. Right now isn’t the time to dwell on that though.

Twenty-two turns from the window upon hearing him enter, face impassive as he looks at Zayn and Zayn looks him over too. He looks healthy, already not as thin as the last time Zayn saw him, face less sunken in, skin a little less pale. They’ve dressed him in a plain white t-shirt and grey sweat pants, of which he’s tucked the hem of the shirt into the waistband like one would with a mission outfit. It looks a bit funny but Zayn gets it, gets that he’s probably looking for some sense of routine or normalcy—the fucked up kind of normalcy he’s used to anyway—and this is a small thing he can do that brings him back to that, to what he knows.

“Hi,” Zayn says to him gently, though of course he doesn’t answer just as Zayn expected, had said it more out of formality and habit than anything.

There’s no point in small talk though, in asking Twenty-two how he is or how he’s settling in or how he’s being treated or how he’s feeling or anything like that because he knows he’ll only get a rote answer or no answer at all.

“Are you injured?” Zayn says instead, knowing he’ll get a more precise answer than “I am fine” by asking this way.

“No,” Twenty-two says, voice monotone.

“Have they been feeding you regularly?”

“Yes. Civilian food.”

Zayn nods. “How are you adjusting to it? Have you had any trouble keeping it down?”

“Yes. At onset.”

“And now?”

“It is easier.”

“And the rules? Are you adjusting to those alright?”

“I am not sure. The protocols are strange here.”

Zayn lets out a soft chuckle, sits down on the edge of Twenty-two’s bed, made up perfectly without a single wrinkle and nods again. “Yeah, yeah, it is a bit weird to get used to. But you’ll get the hang of it.”

Twenty-two is silent for a moment, regards Zayn with a calculating gaze as he remains standing but moves closer, away from the window, so he’s stood just a few feet away from Zayn now in front of the corner of the bed. “They say I am allowed to speak unprompted, ask questions.”

“Yes,” Zayn agrees, smiling a little at the knowledge that Twenty-two _is_ learning.

“May I ask one of you?”

“Of course.”

“You speak as if you are a civilian. Why?”

“Because I am. And so are you now.” Zayn nods to him. “Even before…we weren’t…we weren’t always what they made us. And I know you may not understand that just yet, but you will, in time.”

“Before…” he repeats, like he’s thinking. He sits on the edge of the other bed, the bare one likely meant for a roommate that they were smart not to give him, mirroring Zayn’s position. And then, “May I speak further?”

“Sure.”

Twenty-two is silent for a while again, gaze trained at the floor, a faraway look in his eyes that hits a bit too close to home. Lost in a memory most likely, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together and make sense of whatever it is he remembers that he wants to talk about before he finally speaks again.

“There was a dream. One I had for years…of a boy. A boy that looked like you. In the dream I was in a room, always the same room. The boy appeared frightened when he saw me. But I silenced him with a cloth over his mouth before he could scream. The cloth was soaked in something meant to subdue him and when he went limp I carried him back out of the window with me. But as I left something caught my eye. A row of papers taped to one of the walls.” Zayn’s heart rate picks up speed as Twenty-two speaks, beating quickly and erratically in his chest with the familiarity of the words, the scene Twenty-two is describing, but he stays silent, lets him get out what he needs to. “There were many of them, the papers, most of them drawings, fashioned at random intervals over the walls. Yet these that caught my attention were all lined up next to each other in a row, shiny stickers of all colors spelling out a letter on each page. Z-A-Y-N. Zayn.”

Twenty-two pauses, seems to be lost in thought again for moment before he resumes speaking again in the same monotone voice.

“Before…I always thought it simply a random dream without meaning. I never gave much consideration to the details. But then, that day at the bank during the mission when that civilian saw you up close, I heard him say the word. Zayn. It reminded me of the dream, but I could not make sense of it. That is why I stared at you, in the truck on the journey back to base. I thought perhaps if I reviewed what I remembered of the boy and the details of the dream and compared it to what I knew of you, it would help me make sense of things. Yet it only served to raise more questions instead. You say we were not always what they made us. That there was a…a ‘before.’ If that is true then perhaps it is as I have wondered for some time, perhaps the dream was not a dream at all.”

“No,” Zayn says, voice slightly shaky. “No, it was real. A memory. I didn’t…I didn’t know it was you, but. I…I have a memory like that, too. _Of_ that. I didn’t remember it myself until recently, but…you said you’ve had that dream for years…are there more like that? More that you’ve had for a long time that you couldn’t make sense of?”

Zayn knows that Twenty-two is one of the only survivors of the first run of the program, the one where they fucked things up so royally. If he was able to recall and retain _that_ memory for all this time, chances are he’s got more where that came from. More that might have made him question even while having been forced to hide it all this time. More that means Zayn wasn’t the only one on their team with secrets.

*

Twenty-two’s memories are jumbled, many of them vague, probably half-scrambled from so many years of being wiped and suppressed over and over again. But he remembers the attacks and escape attempts by the first groups of operatives, the old base, the old ways of doing things and the looser protocols. Well, some of them anyway, mostly in bits and pieces, but still memories all the same. All the things he struggled to make sense of in his head all these years but stayed silent on, kept himself from voicing his confusion or inquiries over, lest he be caught questioning.

It’s a game-changer for sure because it means he can corroborate some of the things that happened back then that aren’t so clear from the files, help them make sense of the stuff they have from before that Zayn can’t help with, fit some more of the missing puzzle pieces together. And it may not be a perfect solution but it’s a start. And even besides all that at least Zayn finally feels like he’s helping the others for once instead of just sitting stagnant with things with the Foundation as up in the air as they are right now. The fact that he can see them and talk to them is amazing enough because it’s more than he thought he would get for a long time, until they got things set up more properly with the Foundation and everything.

And once Hannon sets everything up proper and they get the go-ahead for Zayn to help with questioning it’s even better because it means he gets a free pass to come and see them pretty much anytime under the guise of police consultant work. Twenty-three, Twenty-four, and Six are being kept in the same ward as Twenty-two, along with some of the others from their team, so Zayn makes it a point to visit as many of them as he can whenever he comes and they’re all doing well. Or about as well as can be expected anyway given the givens. They’re eating, looking healthier every time he sees them, getting accustomed to the new rules and the way things work both in the ward and in the world outside the program. And Hannon’s even already got a possible lead on Twenty-three’s family, although nothing yet on Twenty-two or Twenty-four’s or any of the others’. But even if the progress is slow it’s still progress and that’s really all that matters right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i just wanna say real quickly that i’m really sorry for the lack of family scenes (and also scenes with danny) in this sequel so far, i know some of you really like seeing zayn's dynamic with his family and with danny but there’s just been so much other stuff going on with the story that there didn’t seem like a good place to squeeze them in without making the storyline feel too cluttered or like too much was going on at once, but you will get to see a bit more of them (soon), promise!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *International Rescue Committee (IRC) - an organization that aids refugees and those struggling to overcome and rebuild after conflicts and disasters
> 
> Also sorry guys but gonna have to go back to just posting once a week for a while as I haven't been able to get as much writing done lately as I would've liked and I'm a little behind schedule :( that's why there was no post on monday, so yeah updates are gonna go back to just being on fridays for a while

_Liam_

Things start moving pretty quickly once Hannon agrees to help with the Foundation. Not only does he have lots of contacts in law enforcement—police, other detectives, lawyers, judges, etc.—who are willing to help, but he’s also got his own media contacts, and friends and associates who are vets on top of that. As he’s told it to Liam and Zayn he pleads their case to pretty much anyone who will listen, talking it up as both a social issue and a police issue. Stressing the fact that the victims need and deserve more help than what little is being provided right now and that police resources are stretched too thin trying to take the brunt of so much of it on, on their own.

Louis’ had a website complete with a donation account set up for months now though so when the word starts getting out, the support starts pouring in and so does the money. Enough to get supplies and even start furnishing the building and fixing up whatever needs fixing. Niall and Sarah and Harry do their parts too, getting the word out down at The Craic and at the hospital and at work meetings or events, to those who are willing to listen anyway. Niall for his part even starts a donation drive down at the pub. Unfortunately it’s not all that successful since most of the people that come there are already pretty stingy with their money even when it comes to tips, but it’s something at least and it’s the thought that counts.

Besides it’s not even just money that matters. They’ve already got a whole floor’s worth of donated computers from various organizations to fill up the main floor without having to spend even a cent of the Foundation’s money. And the office supplies have been pouring in too. It seems like almost every few days there’s another organization or group looking to make a drop-off and even that’s usually already on top of a monetary donation. Honestly all the support so far has been almost overwhelming, way more than any of them thought they would ever get, especially Zayn, but it’s happening. It’s _actually_ happening.

And it still doesn’t feel quite real even after all the times Liam and the others have unloaded furniture and gadgets and supplies from trucks and vans. Even after they’ve drenched themselves in spackle and paint trying to cover up all the cracks and repaint over the plain white of the walls. Even after they’ve cleaned and swept away all the layers of dirt and dust from the floor and the seams of the windows that had collected after years of disuse, and polished the wood floors as best they could. Even with most of the building finally re-painted and clean and furnished with desks and chairs and couches and equipment it still doesn’t feel completely real. Not until he and Zayn turn on the news one day to find a bunch of panelists engaged in a heated debate about the Foundation. _Their_ Foundation.

“I just don’t think it’s fair to be expected to give money to an organization that’s supporting trained killers,” says one of the panelists, a Parliamentary correspondent named Michael Cavanaugh, according to the little banner that appears at the bottom of the screen when the camera pans to him.

“I agree, I mean, that’s money from the government and from citizens that could be better used elsewhere for charities or other organizations that are much more deserving of it. Do we really want to be taking money away from good causes like research for cancer and medical care for terminally ill children to fund something like this?” says another panelist, Joanna Simpson, apparently an acclaimed author of three self-help books about smart investing and—a bit ironically—founder of a charity for at-risk youth.

“But it wouldn’t really be taking money away, would it, because it’s not like they’d literally be taking it out of the funds that have already been donated,” says another named Alan Jessup, a program development advisor for the International Rescue Committee.* “I mean, we have to remember to be careful about the words we’re saying and you’re making it sound like we’d literally be taking money away from these organizations when that’s not the case. All they’re asking is for people to give a bit of money, that they were already going to donate anyway, to this cause too. So saying that they’d be taking away money from other charities is like saying I’m taking away money from cancer research because I decided to put some of my money toward austism research instead of putting it all towards cancer research. That’s just not how it works. And that’s also ignoring the fact that these kids are deserving of help too. They’ve just come out of awful, inhumane, essentially war-like situations and are struggling while an unwilling government and unforgiving population stands by and watches from the sidelines, giving them occasional scraps that in the long run aren’t that helpful.”

“See, and that’s where I have to disagree with you, Alan,” Joanna replies, “because I keep hearing a lot of people like you make that argument but the truth is this wasn’t a war situation. Unless we’ve suddenly declared war on our own country, which, the last time I checked we haven’t. We’re talking about trained killers that were roaming the streets of this country for nearly a decade, murdering people. Now whether they were killing bad guys or good guys I don’t know because that information hasn’t been released yet but that doesn’t change the fact that they’ve killed. They were _trained_ to kill and sent out on the streets of this city, this _country_ , to do just that. And so when you talk about being forgiving it’s like you want us to just forget all of that as if to say ‘yeah they’ve killed people but you should forgive them anyway because they’re troubled and struggling’ and I’m sorry but I just cannot get on board with that and I refuse to give my money to an organization that supports that kind of thinking.”

“Can I ask you all something though, Joanna and Michael?” cuts in the fourth panelist, Lauren O’Malley, an Iraq & Afghanistan war veteran—and her name sounds vaguely familiar but Liam can’t quite place it. “Do you all support the military?”

“Of course.” Joanna nods at the same time that Michael says, “Wholeheartedly.”

“Have you ever or would you ever donate to a cause supporting veterans or the military and their families?”

More nods and enthusiastic statements of assurance.

“Then I’m having trouble understanding why you’re so against this cause. I mean, you say it wasn’t technically war because it wasn’t declared as such but really it’s not all that different from where I’m standing, whether it was an official war or not. The fact is these kids have basically been in a prolonged combat situation for close to a decade, some of them even more than that, suffering from PTSD and all kinds of injuries and physical and psychological trauma. And in many ways they have it even worse than veterans like myself because for me I volunteered for this at an age when I was mentally competent enough to make that decision and to understand what I was signing up for and what I would have to go through, and it _still_ broke me down, as it does so many soldiers. But the difference is I made that choice myself and when I came back I had support. I had the love and support of my family, my friends, and even the country behind me. These kids don’t have that. They never got that choice, were barely even old enough to comprehend all that was going on and all that was happening to them when they were forced into these truly atrocious, inhumane situations, tortured into compliance, and broken down over and over again until they were no more than shells of the people they once were. And _now_ , when they’re at their most vulnerable asking for just a little support, just a little bit of help to get better again and find the families they were so cruelly ripped away from, the very country that let this happen to them turns their backs on them. So many people are quick to forget the fact that these are _children_ , most of them not even old enough to drive and even the ones who aren’t children anymore still came into it as children. They didn’t choose this life for themselves, they didn’t ask for it. So why should they be any less deserving of help and support than someone like me who did?”

“But that’s different—” Michael starts, looking annoyed, but Lauren doesn’t even let him finish, remains completely calm as she continues to make her case.

“How? They were following their duty to serve the military and the government the same way I was. So unless you’re suggesting we should blame _them—_ again, _children—_ for the fact that all of it just so happened to be sanctioned under the corrupt forces from those same sectors who forced them into this as innocent children then I see no difference. They served the same agencies I did, were made to do many of the same things I was made to do, the only difference is it wasn’t sanctioned by the sides of the military and the government that we deem ‘good,’ and that’s not on them. That’s on the people who kidnapped them from loving homes and families and stripped them of everything that made them human. This country _let_ that happen to them, so why shouldn’t it pay to help them get at least a little bit back of what was taken from them when it’s already willing to pay for those who volunteered to put themselves in similar situations?”

“ _Christ_ , she’s good,” Liam says, eyebrows raised.

Zayn nods, cheek brushing Liam’s shoulder where he’s leaned against Liam on the couch. “Yeah, she is.”

“The real question though is are people willing to listen.”

“Is it bad that I think they won’t?” Zayn says, voice low. “I mean, I know all these good things have been happening and I’m supposed to be happy and positive and that, but…what if this never really gets off the ground? What if even after all this it still doesn’t work out and we can’t help them?”

Liam sighs, bumps his forehead gently against Zayn’s. “Then we’ll figure out some other way to help them, yeah? What matters is we’ve got people out there willing to support us, willing to support _you_ and the others. Even if none of this works out we’ve still got that, we can still use that. Chin up, yeah?” He presses a kiss to Zayn’s nose and Zayn giggles.

“Yeah, alright.”

Liam knows it’s hard going through with all this. They all have their doubts from time to time, especially Zayn, who’s got more reason than most not to put too much trust in people. Even Liam finds himself going back and forth sometimes on whether or not this’ll all work out. But even through all of that he still has faith that they’ll make it work somehow, even if it doesn’t all go exactly how they set out for it to. And that’s what he holds on to when his doubts are at their highest, and especially at times like this when it’s Zayn who needs reassurance. Because if nothing else Liam is determined to make sure this works out as best he can even if it turns out they have to change things up or go about it a little differently because Zayn deserves this. He deserves for one really good thing in his life to work out. And so do all the others like him.

*

Surprisingly the donations do actually start pouring in even more after that. It seems more people were willing to listen than they’d even hoped, and even more importantly, willing to help.

Like Lauren O’Malley, who it turns out is a friend of Hannon’s that he’d mentioned in passing once, which was why her name had seemed so familiar to Liam even if he couldn’t quite place it at the time the discussion had aired. She’s since signed on to be a liaison and spokesperson for the Foundation, making a circuit on all the big news outlets and talk shows that will have her and she’s honestly incredible.

She never backs down and she’s always got the most amazing, eloquent retorts for anyone arguing against supporting the Foundation. Honestly Liam’s half-convinced that a good deal of their recent donations are purely out of guilt because with the way Lauren sets up and executes her arguments she almost makes it feel like a carnal sin _not_ to donate. Even _he’d_ been half tempted to pull out his own wallet on one occasion before realizing how ridiculous that was seeing as he was not only one of the ones running the damn thing but also—if he ever makes up his mind about the position—part of their donation money would be serving as his own salary. At least for the first few months anyway until they hopefully get the government funding they’ve been gunning for, which it’s looking like they will with the way public support has started to sway even more back in their favor as of late.

The proposal’s been officially finished and submitted for nearly a month now so it’s really just a waiting game for the response at this point. Things are looking good for the Foundation in general though because even if, by chance, they don’t happen to get approved they’ve made enough already in the last few months just from donations alone to sustain them for at least close to a year, if not more. And that’s not even taking into account all the business partnerships they’ve made that’ll be helping with some of the services as well.

Proposal notwithstanding, the only thing left really is to get the transfer of the former operatives into their care approved by the police commissioner. Which is what Liam and Zayn are currently in Hannon’s office waiting to get an update on.

“So?” Liam says, hopeful, when Hannon steps inside to meet them, closing the door behind himself.

“Hello to you too,” Hannon quips, lips turned up in a half smile when he lays eyes on them only for it fade a moment later, shoulders sagging a bit. “It’s not good—or, well, it’s not _bad_. But it’s not good either.”

“They think they’re too dangerous to be moved,” Zayn says and it’s not a question, not really. More so just a statement of what Liam knows he’d been worried might happen this whole time. Liam too, if he’s honest, though he’d been trying his best to stay hopeful, a positive front to counter Zayn’s moments of pessimism.

Granted they could have just called and saved themselves the trouble of coming all the way here only to be let down but they’d been hoping it would be news they could celebrate. Judging by Hannon’s expression and evasive wording though evidently it’s not.

“No, actually, it’s more of a bureaucratic issue,” Hannon says. “Trust me, we’d love to dump the grunt work onto you all so we can go back to being fully dedicated to other cases that need solving instead of all this split-focusing we’re being forced to do but because the current set-up we’ve got now is in tandem with the government you need to have confirmed government approval first before the commissioner can sign off on the transfer. They want to wait to see what happens with the proposal response, which means for the moment all the paperwork is being stalled.”

“But that could take _months_ ,” Zayn says in barely restrained frustration.

Hannon nods, his exhaustion and exasperation mirroring Zayn’s own even in that simple movement. “You know it, I know it, they know it. But unfortunately there’s nothing that can be done. It’s in the government’s hands now.”

“None of us would fucking be here or even need any of this if it wasn’t for the fucking government in the first place,” Zayn mutters lowly.

“I know.” Hannon sighs. “It’s one of those shitty kinds of paradoxes. Wish things were different but…it is what it is, you know?”

“Don’t remind me, we’ve got a mate who’s a walking reminder of just that,” Liam says with a roll of his eyes.

Hannon raises an eyebrow as he goes digging in the newly installed addition to the large file cabinet against the wall to hold some of the files that were previously cluttering up his desk. “How’s that?”

“Just, he’s got that exact saying in a chest tattoo so it’s kind of always at the forefront of your mind even if you don’t want it to be just from seeing it all the time.”

“Oh, is this the mate that runs the pub, then?”

“Ironically, no. It’s the computer whiz one, actually.”

“Ah, the one that’s got the special computer programs to help streamline tracking down families and that?” Hannon says, glancing back at them.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Liam nods.

“Mmm. I’ll tell you one thing you two certainly keep some interesting company. I mean, one mate that runs his own pub which apparently is also a club by night, another that’s studying to be a doctor who specializes in psychology and PTSD, a computer whiz who was able to hack into what had to be one of the most secure servers in the country, _and_ a journalist with all the right kinds of media connections to get ahead of the story. It’s like you’ve got your own little supergroup.”

“Yeah, they’re ace,” Zayn says with a toothy smile, sulky mood from the earlier news momentarily forgotten.

“I’ll bet.” Hannon chuckles, seeming to finally find the folder he was looking for and tucking it under his arm. “I _am_ really sorry you came all the way down here only to get more bad news. I wish there was more I could do to speed up the process, but unfortunately I’ve done all I can, it’s out of my hands now. While I’ve got you both here though, I was hoping maybe you two could take a look at some more files with me, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Liam looks to Zayn who shrugs like _might as well_ and a little later they’re all hunched over Hannon’s desk, pouring through files like has become the usual whenever they’re here. And it may not be what they initially came for this time around but Liam doesn’t mind all that much and Zayn doesn’t seem to either, and it’s a helpful and productive end at least to what had for a moment seemed like it might have been a mostly wasted trip.

*

The morning of his birthday Liam wakes up to the smell of something sweet and wanders out in his joggers, yawning, to find the kitchen a mess but Zayn at the stove, pristine as always.

“Dammit, you were supposed to stay asleep for a little longer,” Zayn says, throwing a dish towel over something before Liam can get a good look at what it is. Zayn comes around the counter and braces hands on Liam’s shoulders, steering him back the other direction towards the couch. “Eyes forward. No peeking. Promise?”

“Promise,” Liam says, smiling as he nods and plops himself down on the couch. He flips the telly on and passes the time channel surfing while Zayn does whatever he’s doing in total silence behind him.

Minutes later Zayn’s coming around the couch with a platter full of cupcakes arranged in a large L, each one with the mini outline of a Marvel character drawn on it in colored icing and Liam’s heart feels too big for his chest as he grins like mad.

“Zayn…” he starts, looking up at Zayn with wide eyes, before realizing he doesn’t even know what to say.

“Happy Birthday,” Zayn says with a sheepish smile once he’s sat the large plate down on the coffee table. “It’s weird but even though I actually have money now to buy you something I wasn’t sure what to get you so…yeah…um, hope you like it.”

“Come here, you,” Liam says, grabbing Zayn around the waist and pulling him down to his lap, peppering him with kisses all over in spite of his giggles and squirmy protests. “I _love_ it. I love it, I love it, I love it,” Liam says between kisses, “and I love _you_ , you beautiful human being. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Sweetest birthday present ever.”

Once Liam’s taken about eight million photos of the cupcakes and posted half of them online and in the groupchat, they eat them together, curled up on the couch watching SpaceMonsters 3000 for the millionth time. There’s two cupcakes lined up in each row to form the blocky L so they can both have the same character at the same time but it’s a mutual agreement to save a certain two for last.

When the credits start to roll for the movie Liam picks up the second to last remaining one and waits for Zayn to pick up the other before he says, “To my Winter Soldier.”

Zayn giggles and squirms a bit again, looking like he wants to hide his face in Liam’s shoulder, but instead just settles into a bashful smile and responds with, “To my Captain America, happy birthday.”

Liam bumps their cupcakes together in a mock toast and then loops his arm over Zayn’s so they’re both biting into each other’s cupcake at the same time, Zayn into Liam’s Captain America one and Liam into Zayn’s Winter Soldier one.

When they’ve finished Zayn just drops his head down to rest on Liam’s shoulder and says, “You’re lucky it’s your birthday because under normal circumstances I would never tolerate this level of cheesiness and you know it.”

“Shut up. You love it,” Liam retorts, flipping to the Bollywood movie channel and wrapping arms around Zayn’s waist as Zayn settles further into his lap like Liam’s his own personal couch cushion.

And yeah Liam may be indulging but it’s his birthday dammit, he’s allowed to be as sappy as he wants today and even Zayn can’t stop him, no matter how hard he might try to counter the sap with overt sexual advances. Like waiting until right smack in the middle of the Bollywood movie to whisper in Liam’s ear that, “There’s plenty of icing left over to use on _me_ later.”

Nope, not even that can get to him today. Liam is impervious. Liam is made of steel. And so is his resolve. He won’t even let Zayn dancing all on him like a damn stripper when Louis inevitably drags them out to the clubs later break his resolve. If Zayn wants to play games Liam has no qualms about making him suffer, at least for the day. Though when the clock strikes midnight and they’re stumbling back home to bed it’s a different story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel like I kinda broke the fourth wall a bit with that cap/winter soldier cupcake scene lol but as i always say i live to break rules so.
> 
> Comments and Kudos = LOVE :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more fluff (and some porn)! see end notes for trigger warnings...

_Zayn_

It’s a rather gloomy afternoon, rain drizzling outside in stops and starts under a grey sky while the two of them lounge in bed. Zayn’s got Liam’s phone and is scrolling though Liam’s twitter feed while he’s busy reading over yet another lengthy insurance proposal or policy statement or claim or something or other. Zayn’s not really sure. All he knows is that eventually he grows bored of twitter and doesn’t really feel like getting out of bed to get the ipad from the living room where he left it. He’s not even really in the mood to play those kinds of games anyway, would mostly be doing it out of sheer boredom. But he is in the mood to play _other_ sorts of games.

Zayn drops Liam’s phone to the sheets unceremoniously, shoves it up by the headboard, and moves to snuggle up to Liam’s side, pressing himself flush against him. Liam’s so engrossed in his paperwork though that he doesn’t spare more than a cursory glance at Zayn before he goes right back to reading, lips moving absently every so often as he mouths some of the words to himself silently.

Zayn squirms a bit against him, trying to get his attention, but Liam pays him no mind. That doesn’t deter Zayn in the least though, only motivates him to keep at it, wriggling and shifting in place until Liam finally stops reading.

“Zayn,” he says simply and Zayn stills obediently. For a little while anyway. He lets a few minutes pass before he starts up again, fidgeting and squirming like he’s just trying to get comfortable.

“Zayn,” Liam says again, tone only slightly exasperated, and Zayn stills again. Waits it out for another few minutes before he resumes his fidgeting once more.

This time Liam throws an arm over Zayn’s chest to still him and Zayn waits until he’s pulled it back to flip the page before he starts up again.

Liam blows out a frustrated breath through his nose as he levels Zayn with an annoyed glare. “Stop it,” he says, voice tight.

Zayn goes still, bides his time yet again before he’s back at it.

This time Liam actually drops the packet of papers to his lap. “ _Zayn_ ,” he says, voice sharp now after Zayn’s dragged it out for almost a full minute while Liam had tried studiously to ignore him and stay focused. The glare he levels at Zayn this time is equal parts a warning and a threat and it only riles Zayn up even more.

Liam’s close to being well and truly pissed, just how Zayn wants him right now.

Zayn waits a little longer than he had before, just enough to make Liam think he’s actually behaving this time before he starts to squirm again, settling and resettling against Liam, even trying to squeeze his way in between Liam’s side and his bent arm where he’s holding the papers up to read. And normally when he would do that Liam would just shift to accommodate him so he was resting comfortably against Liam’s chest, arm wrapped gently around Zayn, but now he doesn’t budge. Instead he goes a bit tense before he drops the packet of papers to the floor and in complete silence flips Zayn over onto his stomach.

He’s not even all that rough about it, as much as Zayn might have secretly wanted him to be, but Zayn goes easily anyway, a little thrill racing through him when Liam pins his hands behind his back by his wrists. Zayn’s breathing’s already a little ragged just from this and when Liam leans over him to grab the lube from up by the pillows his heart rate only picks up speed. He lets go of Zayn’s wrists briefly to tug his joggers down a little harshly so they rest just under his bum and Zayn hears him pop the cap of the lube open to coat his fingers and then Liam leans down, taking hold of his wrists again as he says into Zayn’s ear, calm but with a hint of an edge to his voice, “Are you gonna behave?”

“Yes,” Zayn breathes immediately.

The second he’s gotten the word out Liam’s pushing a finger into him, and this time he is a bit rough but Zayn can't help the way he melts into the mattress at the feeling. He’s way too turned on already and they’ve only just gotten started but it only gets worse when Liam slides another finger in beside the first barely a moment later and aims for that spot that has him seeing stars. His thrusts are just this side of harsh and it makes Zayn’s dick fill up too fast.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Liam says, leaning back, and his voice still has that edge to it that makes Zayn’s spine tingle.

Zayn tries desperately to answer because yes, _yes_ , this is _exactly_ what he wanted—he _loves_ when Liam gets rough like this and really makes him _feel_ it and he wants Liam to know even though Zayn’s pretty sure he already does. But instead all that comes out is a ragged whimper because in the next moment, before he can even get a proper word out, Liam slips in a third finger, stretching him out a little but still being a bit rough about it, his aim still spot on to boot and it drives him a little insane. Zayn’s dick is heavy between his legs, steadily leaking a stream of precome all over the sheets and he’s torn between grinding down into them and pushing back for more. But ultimately the more carnal urge wins out and he pushes himself back onto Liam’s thick fingers as best he can without the use of his arms, still restrained as they are, rolling his hips a bit to meet Liam’s thrusts. Liam only lets him get two good thrusts in though before he’s pulling his fingers away.

“Thought you said you were gonna behave,” Liam says.

Zayn can’t do anything but whine in response, hips falling limply back to the bed. He’s nothing but a leaking, whimpering mess against the sheets at this point and he’s pretty sure Liam knows it too.

“Clearly I haven’t been doing a good enough job teaching you patience, but I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

The next thing Zayn knows Liam is pressing the flat of his tongue right against Zayn’s entrance and Zayn lets out an embarrassingly high sound that’s a cross between a whimper and a surprised little squeak that he will never admit to making ever to anyone outside the walls of this room.

Liam licks and laves at him and fucks Zayn with his tongue until he’s shaking and the sheets are so wet underneath him it feels like someone’s poured an entire pitcher of water on them instead of just his overactive dick leaking precome everywhere. And then Liam goes right back to fucking him with his fingers but he switches the angle up just so, so that he’s passing right by that spot inside, not quite hitting it but just close enough for Zayn to feel the tease of it in how close it is. After a while he switches back to his tongue again, and then back to fingers, back and forth, back and forth, never quite enough for Zayn to get close to any kind of release until it feels like it’s been fucking _hours_ that Liam’s had him teetering the edge like this.

He feels over-stimulated and touch-starved and strung too tight, and too loose and open all at the same time and he thinks it can’t have been as long as it feels like it has. But when he chances a glance up at the alarm clock on the nightstand he’s somehow simultaneously shocked and not shocked to find that it’s been nearly two hours and Liam still hasn’t given any indication that he intends to let Zayn come anytime soon.

When he slides his fingers in again, three all at once just like it has been this whole time of back and forth, it still sends Zayn roiling and when he slips in a fourth Zayn can’t do anything but jerk his hips a bit weakly and whimper.

He’s absolutely boneless by the time Liam slides his cock in and can’t even muster up the strength to make a sound with the way all the breath gets punched out of him at the shock of that first rough thrust inside. Liam’s not even bothering to try for his usual gentleness anymore, but his cock still goes in so easy with how slick and open Zayn already is for him. Liam rocks into him _deep_ and Zayn goes a little out of it, feeling way too raw inside and out but somehow still wanting more, his limbs feeling like silly puddy and his vision going swimmy. Liam’s punching the breath out of him with every rough stroke inside and lighting a fire inside him with every harsh drag out, leaving him nearly empty and clenching and then amazingly stretched and full, but still it’s not enough. It’s not enough until Liam re-angles his thrusts to that spot that has Zayn’s eyes rolling back so hard it hurts, mouth falling open and his whole body clenching with how absolutely mind-blowingly _incredible_ it feels. He wants to beg Liam not to stop because he’s so close to the edge he can _taste_ it but all that comes out are breathy, choked-off sounds, not that it matters anyway because Liam’s not stopping and Zayn finally, _finally_ comes. He’s not sure where he goes when it happens, he’s almost not even aware of it as it happens even though it’s the most intense indescribable feeling he’s ever felt. It’s weird to explain but it’s like he’s there in his body and not there at the same time, like he can feel everything that’s happening but he’s not fully there, and everything only goes that much more out of focus when he feels Liam’s come filling him up and hears himself let out a ragged little gasp.

It takes him a long time to come back down and even longer to realize he’s shivering, though not from being cold. On the contrary he feels overheated and oversensitive and even when Liam eventually pulls out ever so gently it still feels like too much. He lets out a pitiful little moan and upon moving his mouth realizes he must have been drooling a little because his chin and the spot over the sheets where his mouth had previously been are both wet, as are his cheeks. Apparently he’d been crying at some point too, or at least his eyes had watered over though he clearly wasn’t aware enough to realize it. He wipes his face gingerly against the sheets and his shivers go a bit erratic at the feeling, every inch of him feeling even more raw and exposed.

Zayn feels the bed dip a bit and then Liam’s falling into place on the sheets beside him, very careful not to touch him and to keep a safe amount of distance between them for the time being and Zayn appreciates him for it. Even if he all he wants is to be curled up in Liam’s arms he knows he couldn’t handle it right now.

They don’t do it like this all that often mainly because, as amazing as it always is, it takes a lot out of both of them. And also partly because it usually takes quite a bit of pushing on Zayn’s part to get Liam riled up to the point where he’s willing to be that rough with Zayn, unless he happens to already not be in the greatest of moods like he was earlier. That’s really the only downside, the exhaustion; that and the not being able to touch thing, though another one of the upsides is that it always leaves them both in a much better mood after the fact. But it’s never been _that_ intense before and Zayn feels more worn out than ever.

“Good?” Liam says softly.

“Mmm,” is all Zayn can manage at the moment.

He’s already fighting to keep his eyes open, feeling exhaustion rapidly settling over him like a heavy blanket, but he does manage to catch Liam’s warm smile just before he nods off.

Later, after he and Liam have both had a nice long nap, washed off in the shower trading lazy kisses back and forth, and changed the sheets, they curl up together on the couch with warm mugs of tea to watch a marathon of some random old sitcom.

Liam doesn’t even remember about the work he was supposed to get done until they’re both heading back to bed for the night and he nearly trips on the stack of papers still on the floor, kicked halfway under the bed at some point. He tries to chastise Zayn for it but there’s no real heart in it after being in such a good mood most of the day and instead he ends up just setting it aside to kiss Zayn to sleep anyway, for which Zayn is not at all complaining.

*

The morning of their anniversary Zayn wakes up to breakfast in bed and Liam on top of him.

“Happy Anniversary, babe,” Liam breathes into his ear as he leans over Zayn, trailing gentle kisses down his neck. There’s a large wooden tray sitting in the empty space on the bed next to them, packed tight with plates and bowls of fruit and eggs and toast and turkey bacon and turkey sausage and homemade waffles. And probably more that Zayn can’t quite make out because he’s too distracted by Liam’s lips on his to give the tray more than a cursory glance.

Liam’s only in thin loose joggers but he pulls away with a teasing smile and a shake of his head when Zayn tries to pull them down.

“Ah,” he tsks. “Food first, sex later.”

Zayn whines and pouts a little, leans up to try and follow his lips but Liam’s not having any of it. He climbs off of Zayn and pulls the tray closer and Zayn falls obediently back against the pillows with a little huff.

“Pout all you want,” Liam says, popping a strawberry into his mouth with a nonchalant shrug, tone a little haughty. “But it took me like an hour to make all this so if your plan is to sit there and sulk and let it go cold then you’re definitely not getting any anniversary sex.”

Zayn would never actively waste food, especially not food that Liam made that smells so amazing, and he’d only been planning to sulk for maybe another minute or two. Just enough to get his point across that Liam is a tease, a very horrible, very frustrating tease. But that has him sitting up lightning fast and he grabs the plate of waffles and one of the sets of silverware Liam’s wrapped up neatly in a napkin along with the little cup of syrup and digs in.

They share most of the rest of the food, sipping at mugs of tea that Liam had sat on the nightstand when he brought in the tray—though Zayn does devour most of the bacon and sausage before Liam has a chance to get much of any. But to be fair his body does need more protein so he doesn’t feel too guilty about it and he makes up for it in kisses later.

All in all it’s a great day and not just because they spend most of it in bed, trading lazy kisses. Zayn just really loves the fact that they get to have these quiet moments together where they can block out the rest of the world and nothing else matters but the two of them and he’ll happily take as many moments like these as he can get.

*

In the days that follow Zayn decides it’s high time they start up a new tradition for a different anniversary. A fun little gathering of sorts to counter all the not so great feelings that might normally consume the day. So, on the 22nd of September, the anniversary of his disappearance, Zayn invites his family, Liam’s family, and all their friends to meet up in the park for a celebration. The mums bring tons of food, as does Harry, and they spread out four huge blankets and commandeer the same little section of the park they’ve come to hang out at every so often—ever since Zayn first picked this spot to show off some of his abilities to the others all those months ago. Since then it’s kind of become _their_ spot, though they usually use it to get drunk, or when it’s just him and Liam, to sit and read comics and enjoy the sunlight and fresh air. Today though instead of a quiet companionable silence or the more usual drunk exclamations and raucous laughter, it’s full of friendly chatter and the smell of good food on the breeze, and also still the occasional bit of raucous laughter. But it’s nice, makes him feel strangely normal in a way he hasn’t in a long time, sitting here in a park surrounded by family and friends and good home-cooked food like it’s just a casual weekend get-together. Like something that might’ve happened in another life, a parallel universe where none of what happened ever happened. Except that this _is_ real. This _is_ his life. This is the life he gets to have now. The life he’ll get to keep if things turn out the way he hopes.

“Hey, Z,” Safaa says from where she’s sprawled out on her back across the blankets, socked feet resting comfortingly against Zayn’s thigh. She’s long since dropped the T and now mostly just calls him Z, or sometimes bhaiya if she’s in a particularly sentimental mood. Zayn turns to her, eyebrows raised, and goes a little apprehensive at the mischievous smile teasing at her lips as she sits up on her elbows and taps one of her feet against his thigh contemplatively. “How high up can you jump from?”

Now it’s Zayn’s turn to wield a teasing smile of his own. “Wanna find out?”

Safaa grins, sitting up fast as a whip to tug back on her trainers before Zayn leads her over to the tallest tree in this patch of the park. One that looks to be about fifteen meters high, or roughly five stories in building terms, which is about what he can safely jump from without breaking anything. He’s only ever actually jumped the distance from windows or the tops of buildings, coincidentally never having been in an instance where he needed to quickly jump down from a tree. But he imagines it’ll be about the same with maybe a bit more bounce from the give of a branch that a windowsill or concrete roof wouldn’t afford.

When they reach the base of the tree Safaa stands a few feet away, waiting expectantly for him to start climbing but he pauses, smirking at her, and then turns his back to her, beckoning her forward with a hand. “Climb on.”

Glancing back over his shoulder he sees her raise her eyebrows and blink at him but after a moment of hesitation she steps forward and hops up onto his back.

“Hold on tight,” he says jokingly as he starts to climb because he’d never let her fall and he’s sure she knows that but she clasps her hands around his neck a little tighter anyway as they start to go up through the thick branches.

Zayn half pulls himself, half leaps from limb to limb of the tree, using both his upper body strength and the momentum from his feet to push himself off from one branch up to another and pull himself swiftly the rest of the way up.

“You’re like a cheetah,” Safaa says, giggling into his ear.

“Oh yeah? Well, then maybe I should eat _you_ for dinner then,” Zayn teases, reaching back briefly to poke her in the side, emitting another giggle from her.

They’re almost to the top now, the branches close enough together that he can mostly just climb up them like a ladder without exerting much effort. He stops just a few branches shy of the very top, noting that the ones above look a bit too thin to support both their weight, though the branch one or maybe even the two up above them might’ve been able to if it were just him. But it doesn’t really matter. They’re far enough up that he’s sure Safaa’ll still get a kick out of this anyway.

He wraps arms her knees, securing her to him a little more firmly as he ventures out on the branch as far as he dares to go before he starts to feel it give just a bit. And then he bends his knees and leaps down to the ground, Safaa letting out a little shriek right into his ear, arms locking around his neck in a vice grip as they hurtle to the ground.

He lands squarely on his feet with a thump and looks over at the rest of the group still scattered across the blankets to find a horde of identical shocked faces all staring back at him.

For a long moment everyone is just silent and Zayn’s deathly afraid he’s gonna get yelled out by his parents and maybe even Liam’s too for daring to even think of taking Safaa along for something like this, much less _actually_ doing it right in front of them.

But instead all that happens to break the silence is a slow clap. Which he realizes after a moment has been initiated by none other than Louis, with everyone else joining in shortly after to his surprise.

Finally letting himself breathe a sigh of relief, he lets go of Safaa’s legs and she slides down from his back and immediately skirts around in front of him to wrap her arms around his neck excitedly and pull him into the tightest hug.

“That was so fun!” she says into his ear, overly loud. “Can we go again, bhaiya?” When she pulls back her blue eyes are wide and bright and excited and, despite the make-up she’s started wearing over the past year, the expression makes her look like a little kid. She’s beaming, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement and Zayn glances at their parents over her shoulder, still looking to be in a mild state of shock but smiling a bit now. Zayn’s not sure if they’re smiling at him or at whatever joke or snide remark Louis must have just made that has everyone giggling a bit, maybe it’s a bit of both. But nevertheless they definitely don’t look angry in the slightest so he takes that as his cue that it’s okay, turns back to let Safaa hop on his back again and then bounds back to the tree once more.

Once Safaa’s gone a total of five times while the others all watch on in awe, then everyone but the parents wants a turn and they all start clamoring over who gets to go next and what order is the most fair. Well, all of them except Liam of course. He’s the only one of them who stays neutral and waits patiently for his turn. Which is why Zayn chooses him to go next, despite what Louis might claim.

Louis groans exasperatedly when he sees Zayn grab Liam’s arm and pull him up. “Clear nepotism obviously. This game is rigged.” He crosses his arms defiantly and sulks like the over-dramatic drama queen he is, but Zayn ignores him.

He gives Liam five goes like he had Safaa, and they might share a couple of discreet kisses behind the cover of the leaves as he climbs but he’s neither confirming nor denying. Then he picks the next least argumentative one in the group, Sarah, who’d also mostly stayed silent in the initial revelry but for a couple of witty quips. And he grins to himself at the way her delighted chime of laughter makes Niall light up every time, even from meters away, as they plummet through the air.

Doniya’s next, followed by Niall. It’s a toss up between Haz and Wali because they’d both been squabbling pretty equally with Louis, but inevitably he goes with Wali and there might be a little nepotism involved there but no one else is the wiser. Because he’s pretty sure that everyone else—with the exception of Sarah, who’d whispered conspiratorially just before he started the first climb up with her, “I know what you’re doing,” leaning forward over his shoulder to flash him a wicked smile—still thinks it’s just random and hasn’t figured out yet what order he’s going in.

Louis is last of course and he’s a bit bitchy about it but he quickly gets over it once they start climbing, and has all but forgotten about it by the time they’re careening through the air back towards the ground and he’s whooping and hollering in Zayn’s ear.

Danny joins them a bit later, coming straight from a shift at work. And it’s a bit nerve-wracking cause it’s the first time Danny’s actually met Zayn’s family in person even though he has technically spoken to them once before over a video call Zayn had made while his family was all at his and Liam’s. Danny had been getting ready to go visit his brother at the time and was in a bit of rush trying to get ready to get on the road ahead of the rush hour traffic when Zayn called so he couldn’t talk long. But they’d managed to all get in introductions and a few minutes of conversation at least before he had to go.

He fits right in though among the fray seamlessly, almost like an old friend to the whole group rather than a new introduction. He’s the met the others a couple times now through the occasional night out or Friday night gathering at Liam’s house he’s been able to make it to, so that probably makes things a bit easier. But still it’s amazing how well he gels. He charms all the parents right away, chats up Zayn’s sisters and has them laughing like he’s some long lost cousin they’re just catching up with; plays off Louis’ jibes, hams it up with Niall and Sarah, matches Harry’s awful puns with much better ones, and talks jovially with Liam, the lingering tension between the two of them long since melted away by now and it feels like three different worlds coming together. Three different versions and sides of himself finally settling and converging.

And it’s not as if he hasn’t felt that settled feeling for a long time now. After all it’s been close to a year since he’s done away with that old manufactured identity and started to really _feel_ settled with who he is now. But somehow having all of them come together like this, _seeing_ them all together like this, is like the final puzzle piece clicking into place. All of the pieces of himself that had been haphazardly glued together finally solidifying.

And that’s how he knows that he’s ready, that it’s finally time.

*

Their government approval comes a little over a month later and it’s bittersweet because as happy and excited as he is that they’ll finally be able to move forward it’s also the signifier that it’s time for him to start putting other things in motion.

He’s already talked to Hannon about his options and they’d both agreed that it was best to wait for approval first before he went through with anything so there wouldn’t be anything else that might hurt their chances of getting approved in the first place. Hannon’s got some good lawyer contacts on standby already. All it would take is one phone call for Zayn to let Hannon know he’s ready and a meeting would be set. He still hasn’t told Liam and the others yet though and he’ll need to before he goes any further because he needs them to be prepared for what might happen. Once he does make his move he’ll still have a few months before the lawsuit gets processed and the court date gets set. A few months of seeing his dream come to life. A few months of peace. If word doesn’t get out first, that is.

But for now that fateful phone call can wait. It can wait till after he’s had a bottle of Jack Daniels and listened to Niall’s five million toasts to their success and had one too many of Kevin’s crack burgers. It can wait till after he’s danced on top of the bar with Liam and Louis in some dumb choreographed routine Louis made up and kissed Liam stupid in front of everyone to loud drunken cheers from the pub patronage and made a happy, half-drunken toast of his own. It can wait. Because right now all he wants to do is celebrate. For himself, for his friends, and for all of the other former operatives that will finally be able to get a fighting chance at the lives they should have never had taken away from them, the lives they deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tw once again for rough sex in the first scene]
> 
> hope you enjoyed the bit with all three families! :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *in my poltergeist girl voice* i’m baaaaaaackkkkkkkk (finally haha) :) :) :)
> 
> soooo sorry for the wait guys but here’s the update you’ve all been waiting so patiently for! hope you enjoy!
> 
> also it’s been way too long since i updated the [timeline](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166478480328/twelve-fic-timeline) but i finally got around to doing it and will be updating accordingly as we go through the next few chapters so be sure to check that with every new update to follow along more closely!

_Liam_

Liam is worried. Can’t seem to stop himself from pacing the corridor anxiously.

The corridor of the courthouse where Zayn is meeting with a team of lawyers in the room Liam is currently pacing back and forth in front of. Despite how much he might’ve wanted to he hadn’t been allowed to go inside with Zayn for confidentiality reasons, seeing as he’s not a lawyer or a plaintiff himself. So instead he’s left to wait anxiously out here in the corridor while they discuss what all they need to discuss about Zayn and his case. Like what he’ll need to do and how he’ll need to prepare and whether his case even has a chance. God, Liam hopes the answer to that is a big, fat yes. Because he’s not sure if he could stomach it if it turns out it doesn’t. He might _actually_ punch a wall, or projectile vomit, or better yet both at the same time.

The waiting is killing him. So much so that he might just projectile vomit anyway with the way his stomach is feeling right now. They’ve been in there over an hour already and Liam’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand they could be going through a very detailed list of all the things Zayn needs to know and be prepared for to move forward. But on the other hand they could be explaining all the reasons why it won’t work or why it’s a bad idea or why they won’t take the case.

When they finally come out it’s been nearly two hours and Zayn’s face is impassive at first, giving away nothing of whether it’s good news or bad news he’s coming out to. And then his eyes catch Liam’s and his mouth sets into a grim line and Liam’s stomach drops. All the breath whooshes out of him and he nearly sags back against the wall in defeat but reminds himself he needs to be strong for Zayn. He can get as emotional as he wants and let himself be as angry and distraught as he wants to later, but Zayn needs him now.

Zayn strides over to him with that same grim expression on his face. But the closer he gets the more his lips start to edge up until he’s barely containing a smirk that, before long, breaks into an all-out grin as he says, “Gotcha!”

Liam nearly does punch a wall then.

But Zayn bounds into his arms and before he knows it he’s melting, wrapping arms around Zayn’s waist and hugging him tight because they’re fucking doing this. _Zayn is fucking doing this_.

He gets a chance at _justice_. Something that not too long ago seemed next to impossible but now he actually has a _real chance_.

“You’re gonna pay for that later,” he mumbles into Zayn’s ear because no way is he letting that evil little stunt that nearly gave him a heart attack go unpunished. But for now there are more important things. “So. Where are we going to celebrate?”

“Hmmm…Casablanca,” Zayn says into his neck and Liam nods his agreement. It’s the same Moroccan place they went for Valentine’s Day. Zayn did say he wanted to make it a tradition for celebrations.

Liam whips out his phone as they walk down the steps of the courthouse, ignoring the million unread texts he’s got from the others about how it went in favor of a short reply with the restaurant’s address and a brief message of _be there or be square (and have your friend card revoked)_.

Louis immediately sends the rolled eyes emoji but Liam could care less. He’s too high right now to let anything get to him, even Louis.

*

“What’s this?” Zayn says blearily when he comes up to the kitchen counter early in the morning a couple days later, rubbing at his eyes like he’s not quite fully awake yet.

Liam smiles a little to himself but doesn’t look up from where he’s making them a breakfast of scrambled eggs with curry, the only way they make their eggs now, as he shrugs. “Just a copy of my three week’s notice.”*

Liam chances a glance up at Zayn then to find Zayn blinking at him, eyes wide. “You… _really_?” he says breaking into a grin as he darts around the counter to Liam. “You’re sure?”

Liam nods, propping the spatula against the pan to wrap his arms around Zayn’s neck. “You inspired me,” he confesses. “I figured if you can be brave enough to come forward and risk so much then I can certainly be brave enough to take the damn job and risk a little financial insecurity, which honestly probably isn’t even all that much of a risk anymore at this point with the way things are going.”

Liam’s given this a lot of thought over the last few weeks, ever since Zayn first admitted to him that he wanted to come forward. That had only been a few weeks ago, right before Zayn had made the fateful call to Hannon to set up the meeting with the lawyers. But after these last couple of days especially, thinking about all that Zayn’s risking, it’s only fair that Liam be brave enough do this for him. And not just for Zayn either but for himself and for all the others that this could benefit too.

“I love you so much,” Zayn says, breath ghosting over Liam’s lips with their faces so close together.

Liam smiles. “I love you too. Always.”

*

Liam comes home from grocery shopping one day to find Zayn sat in the middle of the living room sketching. He’s got his headphones on, bobbing his head to whatever he’s listening to but he pushes one side back behind his ear when Liam comes in to call out a quick greeting that Liam returns.

It’s been a little while since Zayn’s had time to just sit and sketch with how busy they’ve both been lately so it’s a welcome sight to come home to it and Liam smiles a bit to himself as he listens to Zayn humming idly while he puts the groceries away. When he’s done he comes around the couch to where Zayn’s pushed the coffee table back to clear space and perches on the arm of the couch to watch him work.

“Who are they?” Liam says when the lines and strokes and curves start to take form into people.

“My team…well, some of them anyway…the ones who are still around,” Zayn explains as he darkens the line of someone’s shoulder, sitting back to examine his work for a moment before pointing out who’s who.

Twenty-two. Six. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Nineteen. Eight.

And Liam feels guilty even admitting it to himself but he sometimes forgets that Zayn _had_ a team. That he had this whole other group of people he spent the better part of a decade of his life with that are just as much his family as Liam and the others are now—even if Zayn didn't really ever have the chance to get to know them as well—most of whom Liam realizes now were likely killed in the shutdown.

Zayn's one of only a handful left he realizes and how had he never thought about that before? How had he never thought about how awful that must be for Zayn knowing most of the people he grew up with, trained with, _lived_ with, are dead, with only about a fourth of them left?

Before Liam even fully realizes what he’s doing he’s dropping down to the floor to wrap his arms around Zayn.

“Liam?” Zayn says, confused.

“Sorry, it’s just…I don’t think about it enough,” Liam explains, pulling back a little to rest his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, “all the people you’ve lost.”

“Oh,” Zayn says. “Yeah, I guess…I don’t really talk about it all that much. Just feels a bit weird to mourn them I guess seeing as I didn’t really even _know_ them. In the bunker death was just…an occupational hazard. Operatives died, Handlers died, and it was just…the way it was, business as usual. Everyone knew it was a risk so when it happened it was like…okay, just another day. That’s pretty much how I felt about it for a long time even after I came here. I mean, I would wonder from time to time, if they were alive or dead, but that was the extent of it, you know? It was just wondering about it briefly and then moving on to something else. And even when the emotions came back it was still sort of like a detached thing, I guess cause I spent so long thinking of it that way. Death, I mean. Or termination, as we called it. Like I would think of them and wonder if they were dead or not and just feel…empty, or, like, blank, not really sad or anything.

“Now that I know for sure they really are dead it’s still kind of an emptiness but there’s a bit of sadness there too. I guess more of a sadness over, like, the potential, if I could put it that way. Like, I won’t ever get to see them get better like I will with the others, and they died as shells of themselves, not really knowing who they were or that they were loved and had lives and families. And _that_ part of it hurts, more than just knowing they’re dead, and that’s probably fucked up but, I mean, what about me isn’t, so.” Zayn shrugs.

“Will you tell me about them?” Liam says.

“S’not much to tell honestly. I mean, I can tell you their designations and how skilled they were in combat and what areas they excelled at in training or on missions, but like I said I didn’t really know them. I don’t have any funny stories to share or cute memories or anything like you might about an old mate, you know? It’s really just tactical stuff.”

“I know.” Liam reaches out to twirl a finger into the ends of Zayn’s hair, which is back down to around the middle of his ears now. “I want to hear it anyway.”

Liam’s still leaned on Zayn’s shoulder, arms wrapped around him and Zayn turns to give him a brief look, like he’s trying to puzzle out if Liam really wants to hear it. But eventually he goes back to his sketch and resumes shading it in while he talks, telling Liam everything he can remember about all the lost members of his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *so i know the three week's notice thing might have sounded weird to some people cause in the u.s. it's generally just a two week's notice as a general rule but in the u.k. your week’s notice is actually supposed to match with up how many years you’ve worked so that means you would have one week's notice for each year you worked, so since liam's worked at the insurance company for three years he'd be turning in three week's notice instead of two
> 
> also side note: the end of this chapter was literally borne out of me realizing _I'd_ never thought of that side of things before either...as much as I've delved into all that zayn and the other operatives have been through for some reason that bit of it just never crossed my mind until i started writing that scene and so this was kind of my way of working through that as well
> 
> also also shoutout to my new beta (if you even bother reading this since you've technically already read it lol)! :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [timeline link](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/post/166478480328/twelve-fic-timeline) again for anyone who might have missed it last time and/or wants to follow along with the updates as the story progresses!

_Zayn_

“It’s just preliminary talks,” Zayn says to Liam’s reflection in the bathroom mirror as he buttons up his shirt. When he’s done Liam wraps arms around his shoulders and meets his eyes in the mirror.

“I know…it just feels like everything’s happening so fast all of a sudden. I mean, we only _just_ got things fully up and running with the Foundation and now you’re jumping right into _this_.”

Zayn shrugs, gives Liam’s reflection a wry half smile. “Yeah, well, that was always the plan.”

“Yeah, well, I only just found out about ‘the plan’ so I haven’t exactly had as much time to get used to it as you have planning it,” Liam says a little snarkily. It’s clear he’s not mad though, just nervous for Zayn’s sake and griping about it. “Promise you’ll give me a play by play after?”

“Promise.” Zayn gives a sharp nod and a soft smile and then turns around in Liam’s arms, hands on either of side of Liam’s face to press a quick kiss to his lips.

*

“Moira Solano,” says the woman who greets Zayn, by way of introduction. She’d been waiting for Zayn just outside the door to the courthouse meeting room where he was instructed to go by Hannon. She’s wearing a dark skirt suit and has shoulder-length brown hair and kind eyes and Zayn takes her outstretched hand and smiles in return.

“Zayn Malik, thank you for meeting me.”

“Of course. And this is?” she says, turning her gaze to Liam.

“This is my boyfriend, Liam.”

They exchange a handshake as well and brief pleasantries before Liam says, “I, um, I know I’m not allowed in, I’m just here for support…is it alright if I wait in the corridor?”

“Absolutely, and it’s really nice that you came. A good support system is always really important when it comes to any kind of legal proceedings, especially something this involved. Granted, this is just a preliminary discussion but if you decide to file,” she says, turning back to Zayn now, “you’ll likely be embarking on what’s sure to be a very stressful, very grueling trial, if the other side doesn’t try to plea out that is, but we can talk more about that inside.”

Zayn nods and then he’s flashing one last soft smile to Liam before being ushered inside by Moira.

There’s another woman waiting inside, sat at the meeting table with a legal pad in front of her.

She stands when she sees Zayn, dark hair tied back in a low bun and a serious face to match the stark black pantsuit she’s wearing, dark red lipstick complimenting the warm brown tone of her skin nicely.

“Zara Shafiq,” she says, hand outstretched.

“Zayn Malik,” he replies, returning the handshake.

Zara moves to retake her seat as Moira sits in the empty chair next to her, motioning for Zayn to take the empty one opposite them on the other side of the table.

“So, Mr. Malik—” Moira starts once he’s seated.

“Just Zayn is fine.”

“Zayn,” she repeats, “no sense in beating around the bush so I’ll get right to the point. I know you’ve talked a fair bit about this already with Hannon and probably given a lot of thought to everything on your own as well, and of course at the moment this is all still hypothetical until you officially file charges, as the main purpose of this meeting is to lay everything out so that you can make a fully informed decision as to how you wish to proceed. That said, if after this meeting, you do decide to still press charges and to take this to trial, I’m sure you’re already very much aware of this, but the defense will try everything they can to break you down and rip your testimony apart to make you look like as much of a monster as possible, especially with a case like this where they’ll have ample evidence and things to use against you. It’ll be our job to counteract that as much as we can obviously. Which means that we—or whoever you ultimately choose to represent you, if not us—would need to play up certain things, things that might make you uncomfortable to see or hear or talk about, things that might bring very painful memories back to the surface for you.”

“You’ve heard people describe how trials for rape cases almost feel like being raped all over again, yes?” Zara adds, waiting until Zayn nods his affirmation before she continues. “Well, to be blunt, if you go through with it, this is going to be probably about a thousand times worse than that. And I’m not saying that to try to deter you, we just need to make sure that you fully understand exactly what you’d be committing to with this. Because once we set this in motion there’s no backing out or changing your mind. Are you prepared to relive everything you went through? To describe those things in the utmost detail in front of a jury, or have them described to you or shown to you through videos or photos? Are you prepared to have every single thing you’ve ever done picked apart relentlessly and thrown back in your face? Are you prepared to be treated like a monster? Because that’s what the defense will do. That’s how they’ll paint you and there’ll be no escaping it once it starts. So we need you to be absolutely sure. Are you prepared for all of that? Will you be able to handle all of that without breaking?”

“Yes,” Zayn says without hesitation. Because these are all the same questions he’s asked of himself for months. He knows exactly what he’s signing up for, what he’s risking, has gone over and over it in his head a thousand times. All the ways they could pick him apart and lay him bare, all the horrible things they could dig up only to shove them back in his face. He lives with that guilt every single day, he lives with those memories haunting his dreams almost every single night. And that doesn’t mean that it’ll be any easier to have it all brought to the surface and laid out for the world to see—because there’s no doubt that the gory details will get out to the public eventually, as high-profile as this will probably end up being. But nothing about his life has ever been easy. And more importantly it’s not just about him. It’s about all of them. Because it’s not just his fight anymore. It’s _their_ fight too as much as it is his—all of the other operatives—even if they’re not strong enough to fight it themselves yet. Until then _he_ has to be strong enough for them. He has to fight this fight for all of them. To give them a chance at something better. The price for freedom has always been high. And even if it means laying himself on the line, risking everything he’s built for himself to give everyone else a chance at the life they deserve, that’s a price he’s willing to pay.

“There are going to be lots of people that hate you,” Zara continues. “Not only the ones whose secrets you’ll be revealing but also all of the ones who will only see you as a senseless killer. Because this _will_ be very public, you understand, and very high profile. And not everyone will be able to see past what you’ve done, see the hell you endured and understand what it took to come out the other side in one piece. Especially not the masses.”

“I know.”

“And you understand that if you were to lose this, there’d be nothing to stop them from bringing charges against _you_ in turn?” Moira adds.

“I know.”

Moira and Zara share a brief look between them before they both turn back to Zayn and Moira speaks again. “Look, Zayn, we’re all in—if you choose us—but if you need more time—”

“I don’t.”

“You may want to take it,” Moira affirms. “I understand your eagerness to get these guys, trust me, but you might want to take some time to really think about what this means for _you_. And for Liam, too,” she inclines her head in the direction of the door where Liam is no doubt pacing anxiously outside Zayn’s sure, “how this might change things for you both.”

“I have. For a very long time.”

“And you’re sure you still want to do this?” Moira says.

Zayn nods solemnly. “I have to. It’s not just for me, it’s for all of them. I know it may seem reckless to you but for me this is about more than just getting even or clearing my name. I don’t care what anyone else thinks or has to say about me, I’m doing this for all the others who can’t. For the ones who aren’t well enough yet to fight this fight for themselves and for the ones who never even had the chance to get here. Even if we lose I have to know that I tried for them. I have to know that I tried to make things better. All they’ve known, all they _remember_ , is pain and suffering. They deserve something better. Whatever has to come out, whatever happens to me after this, if it helps people understand even a little bit better what happened to us, if it helps make a better world for them, even if it’s only a little, it’s worth it to me. Honestly, if it were up to me I would have already filed the charges but Hannon wouldn’t let me until I agreed to meet with you first.” Zayn gives a wry smile. “He threatened to rip any paperwork I filed to shreds if I tried anything before this meeting.”

Zara snorts, but she’s smiling a little too as she says, “Yeah, that does sound like Hannon.”

Once it’s established that Zayn’s plans are definitive they agree to go through the rest of the meeting prepping like they normally would for the beginnings of a trial. There’s a lot more they have to get through, preliminary questions and reviewing of some of the more basic facts about Zayn and the program to help them start getting notes together for building a case. All things they’ll likely inquire about in more depth over the coming months, but for right now it’s mostly just fact checking and housekeeping.

After the first hour or so they’re pretty much through with basic questions about the program and have moved on to more specific questions about him when Moira spots the edge of one of his tattoos where the sleeve of his button down is slightly rolled up.

“We'll of course need to photograph any tattoos or scars you have from the program for evidence towards our case,” she says, motioning with her chin towards Zayn’s forearm as she scribbles more notes onto her legal pad, already five pages in.

“There’s, um...there's quite a lot. Of scars I mean,” Zayn says.

“Good. That'll only help our case,” Zara says and Zayn knows she doesn’t mean good in the literal sense, just that it’ll be good for them in the long-run because it’ll help towards painting him more as a victim in the eyes of the jury. He’s quickly come to see that Zara’s a bit more blunt than Moira, which in a weird way Zayn sort of appreciates because it lets him know he can probably always trust her to be straightforward with him. Not that Moira isn’t also straightforward, just that from what he can tell so far she seems to be a bit nicer or more delicate in the way she goes about things. A quality that will probably prove to be an asset when it comes jury likability and sway, but for right now he finds he prefers Zara’s brusque candidness. “We’ve already got photos on file of the other operatives’ scars and tattoos that we’ll probably also use, or rather Hannon and his department do,” she continues, “but it’ll likely be more impactful for the jury to see yours since you’re the only one they’ll actually be seeing on the stand. It’s one thing to see a bunch of detached photos up on a screen of people you’ve never met and will probably never see face to face and another thing entirely to know that one of those people is sitting right there in front of you, still living with the pain and the aftereffects of that trauma.”

Zayn nods in understanding. He’d figured that would probably be one of the things they’d try to play up to use to their advantage so he’s not surprised in the least.

They power through a few more questions ranging from his abilities and rank to his family and his relationship with them. More things they can use to play up a positive image of him to counteract the things about his skillset and enhancements that will likely be used against him to paint him in a negative light, as something dangerous and inhuman or someone to be feared. He’s not a fan of having to use his family that way but he also knows that every little thing helps and that ultimately his family will understand because it’ll only make the defense’s job that much harder to paint him as a monster in front of the jury once they’ve heard stories about him bickering over Candy Crush scores with his sisters or talking about how loving and supportive his parents are.

“One last thing before we finish up…is there anything you can think of that you’re absolutely unwilling to talk about?” Moira says. “Because while we can’t guarantee that the defense won’t bring it up we can certainly try our best to steer away from it if need be.”

“You don’t have to tell us about it right now,” Zara adds, “but if there’s anything at all we should know about we need you to be straight with us because the last thing we’d need is for you to have a breakdown in front of the jury.”

Zayn shakes his head. “No. Nothing that I can think of at the moment.”

And it’s true. He’s mentally prepared a thousand times over for everything he might possibly be required to talk about and while some things might be harder than others he can’t think of any one thing that would be completely off-limits.

Both women nod politely and then they’re packing up their things and shaking hands with Zayn again; all three of them quickly coming to a consensus on the date and time of their next meeting before they all say their goodbyes and head back out into the corridor to go their separate ways.

Zayn knows Liam’s waiting anxiously for him out in the corridor, hoping to hear good news—that they’ve agreed to take the case, that the odds are not the greatest but they’re not the worst either—but he can’t resist messing with Liam just a little. Schools his face into a less than content, slightly disappointed looking expression.

It’s fun for a moment but he can’t hold it for long. His expectations may have been fairly low going in but he’s a bit too excited now over the fact that they might actually have a chance. Finds himself breaking into a smirk and then a grin the closer he gets to Liam until he’s falling into Liam’s arms and pressing his smile into his neck.

It’s worth it if for nothing else than the threat he gets for it that’s more of a promise of some _very good_ things to come later than anything.

*

They’ve been in full operation for only just over three weeks when the last of the operatives are finally officially transferred into their care and it comes time for the press release. Zayn’s antsy in the days leading up to it, strangely more anxious over this then he is over the impending trial.

Somehow this feels more consequential. At least with the trial he’ll be going up against the devil he knows, has more of a sense of exactly what he’s up against and how things might go, set rules to play by, for the most part anyway. The press release in comparison feels a bit like being thrown to the wolves. But he knows it has to be him, that he’s the only one who can do this.

Like it or not he has to be the public face of the Foundation, in addition to the trial. He knows when it comes to the Foundation any one of the others would be willing to step up if he needed them to but it’d be essentially like running and hiding, or at least that’s how it would look. Like he’s too ashamed to show his face, to own up to everything he’s done, to stand up for all those who can’t yet. But even more importantly than that, him being one of them _matters_ , makes it more meaningful than it would be if it were someone like Liam or Harry speaking on the victims’ behalfs. Him being their voice, and the face of this, will hopefully show people that they’re not all just the monsters they’re being made out to be by some, that they’re just regular people who only want the chance to get better and live their lives. That they _can_ get better and live normal lives if given the chance because he’s living proof.

But still it’s one thing to know it and another thing entirely to be the one doing it. Which is why he finds himself here, in one of the many facilities they’ve partnered with, for the third time in two weeks. Lately whenever everything starts to get to him, when it starts to feel like it’s all too much, this is where he comes. To remind himself exactly why he’s doing it all.

When Zayn walks into the common room he finds Twenty-two, Twenty-three, and Twenty-four all sat together on the couch, the three of them watching telly. Nineteen and Eight are at another facility and he sees them too but not as often as they’re farther away—much as they may have tried they couldn’t keep _all_ the teams completely together. Six is usually here with them though, but it seems he’s missing today.

“Hello,” Twenty-two says, still in that typical operative-monotone voice, when he sees Zayn.

“Hey,” Zayn says with a smile, coming to perch on the arm of the couch. “Have we lost one? Where’s Six?”

“He is attending a scheduled family visit,” Twenty-two replies. Zayn hums in answer.

Six is only the second one of their team so far to be reunited with his family. Twenty-three had been first and Liam, Sarah, and Zayn had personally overseen both of their first meetings, or rather re-meetings.

Zayn hadn’t been sure at first if it was a good idea for him to be present, considering the whole reconciliation thing was supposed to be more Liam and Sarah’s jobs than his and he hadn’t wanted to feel like he was getting in the way or overloading anyone by being there. But Liam and Sarah had convinced him that it might be good for the families to see him and talk to him; to give them a sense of hope even, knowing that he’d been there right along with their children and experienced the same horrors they had but still made it through the other side okay.

All in all the reunions had gone about as expected, pretty much as awkward and tense as his own first reunion with his family had been. But, as per the Foundation’s guidelines, once a former operative’s family is found the family is allotted time for as many scheduled visits with their relative as they like; as long as it doesn’t conflict with any of the facility’s routine activities for the former operatives, like social skills classes or therapy sessions. And as long they make sure to schedule their visits ahead of time so as to avoid any elements of surprise or sudden upsets in routine.

Zayn nods his chin up at the telly. “What are you all watching?”

“A television program about civilian adolescents,” Twenty-three answers, seeming deep in thought for a moment before she speaks again. “They seem to care a great deal about trivial things.”

Zayn smiles to himself both at the comment at the fact that he’s just realized they’re watching Skins reruns. The first series by the looks of it.

“Yeah, you’ll find a lot of teenagers and even adults are like that. They don’t have the same problems we do, you know? So they obsess over the little things. It may seem silly now but you’ll understand it better with time. How much the little things can matter. What do you think of it so far though?” he asks.

“It is interesting,” Twenty-two answers. “However some of their conflicts are more difficult to understand than others.”

“Mmm. What’s your analysis?”

“The one called Tony is easiest to understand. He enjoys manipulation, like the Director, and his associate Sid goes along with it because he believes he must. He is not so difficult to understand either. But some of the others are not so simple. Jal appears angry and resentful of her relatives for reasons that are difficult to comprehend. Chris engages in many recreational activities but does not seem to be interested in accomplishing anything else that civilians normally pursue such as completing school or working. And the blond one, Cassie, appears obsessed with caloric intake. Is this a common thing among civilians?”

“Some.” Zayn nods. “They call it an eating disorder. It’s not the easiest thing to explain but the simple version is that people with it become obsessed with weight and the way they look and finding ways to reduce the amount of calories they consume. In a way it’s a bit like Indoctrination Sessions but a little more subtle. All day everyday people see images of people that look a certain way or keep getting told that they need to look a certain way, so much that they start to believe it, kind of like some of the things we were made to believe about ourselves in the bunker. Just like we were willing to do whatever we had to, to avoid punishment, people with those kinds of disorders are willing to do anything to look the way they think they should look so they can be accepted and considered desirable. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” all three of them say in unison.

“As for the others, Zayn adds, “it may take some time to understand them a little better but that's because as it is right now most of their issues are more emotional than psychological or physical. Let me know if you have any other questions though, yeah?”

“Yes,” they say all in unison again and it’s the first and only thing he’s heard from Twenty-four since he walked in.

She’s been unusually silent throughout their whole exchange. Not that she usually has a whole lot to say anyway. Not that any of them do given the stage they’re still at. He’s not sure whether he should be concerned for her or not though.

Over the course of the last few months, and especially the last few weeks, he’s noticed she’s been lagging a bit behind the others as far as progress. Both Six and Twenty-three have made significant strides in the weeks since they’ve been reunited with their families—eight weeks ago for Twenty-three and five and a half for Six. Twenty-two’s family hasn’t been found yet either—though Louis says he thinks they might be getting close—but he’s also got his memories from the first iteration driving him forward. If there’s one thing Zayn knows from experience it’s that having any kind of knowledge that pushes you to question is a huge force in helping break through that restrictive mold and Twenty-two’s got the most out of all of them. Which is probably a large part of why he’s made arguably the most progress out of any of them so far despite not having the same kind of catalyst that Six and Twenty-three do in their families.

He’s worried though not only about Twenty-four’s progress but also for how it might be affecting her even if she’s not yet at the stage where she’s fully aware of or able to recognize her own emotions. He can’t help but wonder if the reason she’s been so quiet lately, more so than usual, the last few times he’s come to visit is because she feels like, on some level, maybe she’s been left behind. But then again maybe he’s reading too much into things and she’s just been quiet because she doesn’t have anything she thinks is significant enough to voice.

The show goes to break and an advert for a carpet company plays, all three of them watching studiously as the camera pans over a close-up view of a plain grey carpet. And it’s strange for Zayn to think that not too long that was him. That this is how it must have felt to be in Liam’s shoes. The only major difference being that Zayn at least knows how to bridge the gap having been there himself. But Liam had been flying blind and still managed to do so much for him to help him get back to himself. To go above and beyond, always. Zayn doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how incredibly lucky he is to have Liam in his life. Now though he’s got to be the one to guide _them_ like Liam had him. And if being around them helps him not feel quite so anxious about all that he’s undertaking by reminding him exactly who he’s doing it all for, well that’s just a bonus.

*

 _Inhale_. _Exhale_.

 _Inhale_. _Exhale_.

“You okay?” Liam says after Zayn’s taken a deep breath for the third time in as many minutes. He lays a comforting hand against Zayn’s back and Zayn nods, feeling the tension in his muscles relax a little more.

“Just nervous.”

The two of them are stood out in the corridor just outside the multi-purpose room at the Foundation Headquarters. The same room Zayn is planning on holding Operatives Anonymous meetings in, once some of the former operatives are well enough to move beyond more structured therapy sessions and into something a little less formal. Right now though it mostly just gets used for various department meetings, but not today.

He can hear the mill of the room full of people on the other side, bits and pieces of conversations that he’s trying to block out because it’ll only make him even more nervous all over again. He hears a familiar set of footfalls though on the other side of the door and knows already that he’s out of time, or at the very least close to it.

Sure enough moments later Harry pokes his head out the door to say, “Two minutes.”

Zayn nods, takes another deep breath and Liam turns to him, taking Zayn’s face between his hands. “You’re gonna be great. Love you, yeah?” He presses a chaste kiss to Zayn’s lips and Zayn smiles.

“Love you, too. Don’t go too far back, please.”

Liam gives him a crinkly-eyed smile and a nod and then he’s slipping through the door with Harry, and Zayn waits out the final agonizing minute alone.

He counts down the seconds, the door opening in front of him exactly on time. He tries to turn to thank the person behind it holding it open but he’s distracted by all the flashing of bright camera lights the second he steps foot inside the room.

At this very moment, he realizes, his face is being plastered over televisions all across the country via local and national and possibly even a few international news stations. It’s not a comforting thought but he makes his way over to the podium, standing front and center in the large room, taking one more deep breath as he goes, steeling himself before he looks back up to face the cameras.

 _This is it_ , he thinks. No more going back now. Not that he was planning on it anyway but still. In the next moment he’ll be announcing himself, and the Foundation in tandem, to the world. Everyone will know his face, his name, his story.

He can see Twenty-three and Twenty-four right in the front row with Twenty-three’s family, Twenty-two and Six a few seats away, and his own family right in the middle of the row, smiling up at him proudly. He can’t see Sarah or any of his boys but he knows they’re around. The room is packed to the brim with people. Over two hundred seats and every single one of them filled, along with any standing room—any space that wasn’t deemed a fire hazard to fill that is. About half of them are operatives and their families. Some hand-picked, like the ones from his team, others chosen at random for them and their families to receive invitations. The rest are a mix of employees from here at the headquarters, representatives and other employees from organizations and facilities they’ve partnered with who could make it; in addition to community leaders and liaisons like Lauren O’Malley and Detective Hannon, other public supporters like members of one of the local fire departments, and an all-veterans bowling team, among others. And of course the press.

It’s not who’s in the room that he’s worried about though but who’s outside of it. Who’s watching on their televisions or listening in on their radios. Who by tomorrow this time will know nearly everything there is to know about him and his past. It’s the end of his life as a private person. And the beginning of a new one. For him. But also for all of them. And it starts right now.

“Good Afternoon. My name is Zayn Malik and I’m the Executive Director of the Foundation for the Recovery Effort for Ex-Operatives. I want to thank you all for coming. It means a lot to me and to all of us here who’ve worked so hard to make the dream of this Foundation and all the good it’s doing and continues to do a reality…”

It’s easier once he gets going, to roll right through the speech he’s had memorized now for nearly a month. To talk about the work they’ve been doing, all the successes they’ve had and the setbacks they’ve overcome, the programs and classes and routines they’ve implemented and the ones that have yet to come to light but that they’re hopeful will be just as successful. To talk about all the reasons this was so desperately needed and all the good it’s done not just for the former operatives and their families but also for the police departments and hospitals that were overloaded and unequipped to deal with all that the situation entailed. To talk about all the progress he’s seen even just over these few short months and all the families that have been reunited, all the things they’ve been able to achieve with the help and support of so many kind and generous people.

It gets harder though when he gets to the parts about himself, about why this means so much to him and why he’d been inspired to even build something like this in the first place. When he has to talk about his own journey from the shell he was made to be to the person standing before them today and all the help he had in getting there. When he has to reveal all the gritty details—well, not all, but some—about who he really is and what he’s done. What he’s come back from.

“Please understand that these are not things that I share lightly,” he explains once he’s gotten through the worst of it, “but I’ve chosen to share them with you today so you all can understand precisely why this is so important to me. I recognize that not everyone will be able to see past what I’ve done, who I was, _what_ I was. Just as I recognize that there will be many others who disagree with what we’re doing here at the Foundation. I know that what I’m asking is not easy, but for those that are willing I ask you to try and look past all of that. Because this Foundation is not about me or what I’ve done or even what any of the former operatives in our care have done. It’s about healing. It’s about them getting back the lives that were stolen from them too young and for far too long. It’s about reuniting with the families they were ripped from and made to forget. It’s about coming back to themselves, regaining all the parts of themselves they’ve lost at the hands of the sinister forces within the very same government that was meant to protect them. It’s about getting back the love and lives they deserved all along.

“And now, if you’ll allow me, to close I would like to take a moment to address those very individuals for whom this Foundation was established. To all of the operatives and their families here in the audience as well as those watching and listening in: _you are stronger than you know_. You may not feel like it now. You may not feel it tomorrow or in a week or a month, but you _will_ feel it. You’ll feel it in the quiet moments spent with those you love, those you never knew you had or that you thought you’d lost forever. You’ll feel it in that first moment of laughter that you never thought possible. You’ll feel it in a warm embrace or a soft caress. And it may hit you by surprise but you’ll feel it. I know you may feel like things are rough right now and like they’re never going to get better, but they _will_. Trust me, I understand. I’ve been where you are and I wish I could tell you that it will be an easy journey to get to that point. That there’ll be no more pain or fear or emptiness. But I can’t. Because healing is messy and ugly and slow and doesn’t just happen in a progressive line. Sometimes…sometimes it’s gonna feel like you’re going backwards or sideways or every direction but forward, and you might not ever feel the same as you were, you might always be different from the person you used to be, but sometimes that’s okay…”

He’s nearing the end now, nearing the onslaught of questions he knows is coming and he can feel himself starting to grow nervous again. He looks out at the sea of faces staring back at him, fights down the anxiety threatening to overwhelm him even though he’s almost through now. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but there’s so many of them, looking to _him_. And not just them but their families too. It’s crazy to think but it’s right then and there that he realizes they’ll be looking to _him_ as a role model now that they all know the truth. It’s a lot to take in, especially in the moment. And seeing all of them here, now, in front him—even if it still isn’t _all_ of them—is a bit overwhelming. So many faces in the crowd that he’s now publicly responsible before, that he’ll be held personally accountable for, at least for the duration of their recovery. It’s a scary thought, one he wishes he could have had any other time but now, but then he supposes that’s just his luck.

It’s a lot of weight to carry on top of what already at times feels like too much with all that he’s undertaking and he’s trying and failing to push it all down, to make it to the end, but each new face he passes over only adds to the pressure. As he looks around though he catches sight of Liam in the sea of faces, smiling proudly, and that’s all he needs. He can already feel himself relaxing a little again, powering through the last of what he wants and needs to say. Counting down the moments until he’s back by Liam’s side again, safe and sound, and that’s what gets him through to the end.

“I’ll end by telling you a few things that two very wise people once told me, and for some of you it may be too soon for you to hear some of this and to understand it, but I want you to remember it anyway for when you do. The first is to stop thinking of the thing they made you into as _you_. It’s always going to be a part of you and there’s nothing you can do to change that now, but it is _not_ you. The second is that being different doesn’t have to be bad, it just means that you’re growing, learning, moving on. You may be different now than you were before, you may be carrying the weight of a load now that you never thought you’d have to bear before. But the only person who gets to define you now is _you_ and no one can take that away from you now or ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to ohthathurt for helping me narrow down a perfect name for zara when she was still just being referred to as lawyer 2 in my draft notes lol, you da best chica! ;)
> 
> and yet again another shoutout to my awesome beta who caught my dumb mistakes and typos and forced me to rethink/fix all my awkward sentences (for the better of course) lol
> 
> updated the [bonus playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/12101105796/playlist/13rgXffY8L8EXplTIgeV2Y?si=lLASRJZdT5i9ZLDzLejbOQ) again if anyone’s interested, it's only one additional song that got added to the list but it was suggested by a commenter (which btw i'm always open to more song suggestions for the playlist any time!) and it's honestly a perfect song choice that i'm still kicking myself for not thinking of earlier cause it's a song i love and that's so fitting for this verse so yeah go check that out if you're so inclined :)
> 
> also did anyone catch the captain america reference i slipped in there this chapter? :P  
> [hint: it has to do with freedom]


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if anyone’s even still reading this fic outside of like 3 people lol but anyway sorry it's a little late but enjoy!

_Liam_

“You were _so_ amazing, babe,” Liam says against Zayn lips after he’s finished his speech and made the rounds through the press questions.

Hands had flown up the second he’d finished, a torrent of inquiries being hurled in Zayn’s direction as everyone all tried to talk over each other, struggling to be heard over the noise of the room.

_What do you have to say to your detractors? Are you worried about how your statements might affect the Foundation’s success? Why did you choose to reveal your identity so publicly in this way? Were you behind the information leak that led to the discovery of the program or do you know who was? Are there others like you who escaped before the information leak? Is it true you’re in the midst of filing a lawsuit against former orchestrators and co-conspirators of the program? What are your plans to deal with those condemning you and your work with the Foundation going forward?_

He’d answered what he could as best as he could for the allotted five minutes or so that had been allowed for questions. Now that that’s all over though he’s all smiles as Liam wraps arms around his waist, hordes of people packing up and filing out around them; heading back through the double doors that lead to the exit while he and Zayn huddle together in the corner at the front of the room near the door they both came in through at the start.

Zayn can’t hold back his grin at Liam’s praise. “Only cause I knew I had you here with me. Casablanca?”

“Casablanca.” Liam nods.

Once they’ve taken the time to voice their thanks to those in attendance they know personally, like Hannon and O’Malley, Twenty-three and Six and their families, among others, there’s not much else left to do. The set-up crew they hired takes care of most of the clean-up after everyone has cleared out, sweeping up any stray rubbish and folding and stacking up all the chairs. Outside of the cleaners and a few stragglers the only ones still around are Zayn’s and Liam’s families, Danny, and the rest of the gang and they help wrap up by putting away the last few sets of chairs and the podium.

Once the cleaners are done and are packing up their own things to leave, Louis and Liam duck out briefly to check in on their respective teams, most of whom had only hung around for the duration of Zayn’s speech before going back to the offices to get back to work. They’re a dedicated bunch, their teams, always giving a hundred percent and then some. Liam’s not sure about Louis and his team, but he’d been worried Zayn’s announcement might cause a bit of tension among his own team, whether between them and him or with each other. They seem to be taking the news in stride though, going about their business as usual, still being friendly and cordial with Liam and that’s all he could really hope for.

The others are all waiting patiently for them in the main lobby when they get back.

“Everything alright?” Zayn says, voice low enough for only Liam to hear once Liam’s back beside him. He’d known how worried Liam was, and had had his own concerns about how some of the people they work with might react.

But Liam just nods and gives him a reassuring smile. “Everything’s good.”

“Heads up, there’s protestors outside according to Twitter,” Niall says in warning just before they head through the doors.

Zayn nods tersely and Liam lays a comforting hand over his back. They’d expected as much given the givens, so it’s not really a surprise. No doubt Zayn can already hear them loud and clear even before they open the doors but the moment they step outside they’re surrounded by taunts and jeers and for Liam the sudden shift from the relative quiet of the lobby to the clamor of outside is a bit of a shock to the senses. They’ve got a bit of security though in the form of officers brought on especially for the event, courtesy of Hannon, and they help keep the hecklers at bay until all of them are safely in their cars.

Zayn’s sudden burst of laughter a few minutes into the drive though throws Liam.

“That was crazy, wasn’t it?” Zayn says, a bit of a manic-looking grin on his face.

“It was.” Liam nods, cracking a wary smile of his own. “You okay?”

“I’m great. Fuck them. I just held an entire fucking press conference and am on my way to eat some amazing food with all my favorite people. I couldn’t be better. They can all get fucked for all I care.”

Now it’s Liam’s turn to laugh, shaking his head fondly. Trust Zayn to be completely unfazed by it all and already thinking about food.

*

Liam’s at his desk in his office shuffling through papers when there’s a knock at the doorframe that draws his attention. His door’s already open because it always is and when he looks up it’s to find his admin assistant—it’s still crazy to him how he went from _being_ one to _having_ one—Kate standing in the doorway with a file in her hands. “Call for you on line two,” she says, striding forward to hand him the file. “And this just came in from downstairs. Missing person’s report on a kid named Alec filed around the time of the program’s first iteration. His description lines up with one of the ops and Louis’ team thinks it might be a match but they wanted your go ahead I guess before they move forward with tracking down the family.”

That’s odd. Louis and his team don’t usually need Liam’s input before they do anything. Not until they’ve confirmed a working and valid phone number or address for a relative at least. That’s the point when it usually gets passed onto Liam and his team to break the news to the family and start the process for prepping them for a reunion.

Liam furrows his brow but takes the file anyway. “They say why?”

Kate shrugs. “Just said to give it to you directly.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

Kate nods brusquely and starts to walk away.

“Oh, hang on, Kate, before you go, who’s the call on line two from?”

“It’s the Miller family again.”

Liam’s face falls. “Same thing?”

“Same thing.” Kate nods.

Liam sighs. It’s Twenty-three’s parents—or Rory, rather—one of the girls from Zayn’s team. They’re still calling her Twenty-three though for now because one of Zayn’s stipulations had been not to force any particular identity on the operatives but to let them choose for themselves when they’re ready. So until such time as an operative chooses to go by their birth name again, or whatever other name they might decide to go by, the staff and family are to continue to refer to them by their designations since that’s what they’re most familiar with. That’s not the issue of concern though with Twenty-three’s parents. In fact the reason they’re calling doesn’t have anything at all to do with Twenty-three but with Twenty-four.

Louis and his team still haven’t found anything on her family yet, can’t even seem to find a stable lead but Twenty-three’s parents seem to have taken up the mantle on Twenty-four’s behalf, calling nearly every other day to see if there’s an update. Liam couldn’t figure it out at first, why they’d be so overly concerned for her in a way that clearly went beyond just general sympathy for another operative until Zayn had explained a bit of both girls’ history in the program to him.

Liam’s still not clear on all the details but the way Zayn puts it Twenty-three and Twenty-four have always had a sort of unexplained connection. So much so that they started getting paired up for missions early on as opposed being sent out solo, as was more common, because the Handlers and the Director noticed they worked so much better whenever they were together. Whereas other operatives often clashed when paired up in the early days of their training, when they were all still at the stages of learning how to work cooperatively as a team with others, Twenty-three and Twenty-four flourished. On missions their completion rate was always faster, their skills and tactics sharper and more effective, and their success rate better whenever the two of them were together compared to when they were sent out solo. Over the years it sort of became an unspoken rule that the two of them were a unit, and it got to be so it was extremely rare for either of them to get sent out alone—until everything started getting switched up with the third iteration attempt of course. Working as a pair was kind of in direct contrast with operative training though since the goal was ultimately to be able to handle missions alone with minimal interference unless it was something that specifically required a team effort. But when it came to the two of them, for the most part no one questioned it.

The thing is apparently the whole being a unit thing is still very much the case even now that the program’s over and done with. So most times when Twenty-three’s family comes for a visit Twenty-four is there with her too and the Millers have sort of taken her under their wing. Which unfortunately also means non-stop calls looking for updates that Liam’s team doesn’t have because so far they’ve gotten absolutely nowhere with her case.

Granted they’ve still got a shit ton of missing person’s reports and old photos and all sorts of other files to go through but based on the ones they’ve managed to get through so far none of the results from the ageing up software have been a match for her.

Every time they call it’s the same thing and there’s no doubt Kate’s already told them there’s no new news but like always they won’t let it go until they hear it from Liam himself so that’s what he does.

The second he’s off the phone with them though he’s dialing Louis.

“’Sup, Payno? How’s it hanging up there in the penthouse suite today?”

“Was hanging fine till you started sending _more_ files up here for me to go through. In case you weren’t aware we’ve already got plenty of our own to deal with, thanks. And anyway since when do you guys need my go ahead for anything?”

Liam hears Louis shout something that sounds vaguely like an insult just out of earshot of the receiver at one of his team members—all of whom he insistently continues to refer to as interns even though they’re full-time paid employees and Louis himself is the only of them that’s actually part-time—before he comes back to the phone. “I take it you haven’t looked at it yet,” he says like it’s not a question, tone a little more serious now.

“No…” Liam starts, suddenly wary. “I’ve got a stack of files on my desk nearly as tall as me, I rang you hoping you’d tell me there was some sort of mix-up with your ‘interns’ or whatever and that I didn’t actually have to go through it.”

“Just give it a look, yeah? And give me a call back when you’re done.”

“Alright…” Liam says, not sure what to think, but he hangs up anyway, flipping open the folder curiously.

The first page is a copy of a generic missing person’s report for a boy named Alec Resin that doesn’t tell Liam much—they never do really—other than that he has blond hair and grey eyes. Just like usual the information on the report isn’t really all that helpful since all it points to are things that would’ve been helpful to know _then_ , not now. Things like his height and weight and the last time he was seen, what he was wearing and where he went missing from.

Liam gives it a brief skim, noting that he did in fact go missing in March of 2001 during the time of the first iteration just like Kate said, and then flips past it to the next page, a photocopy of police notes by the looks of it. Pretty much everything they have is photocopied or faxed since all of the original police records have to stay at the precinct they came from for legal reasons. Paperclipped to the back of the missing person’s report though is a small piece of paper. Or no, the back of a photo, Liam realizes.

It’s another photocopy of course but made on photo paper so it looks pretty damn close to what the original probably looked like but with the coloring appearing slightly faded, likely from shitty printer ink. The inscription on the back of it reads _Alec, Year 6_ in neatly written cursive and when Liam pulls it free from the paperclipped page and flips it over he finds a school photo of a boy that looks vaguely familiar to him though he can’t quite place him in his mind. He’s dressed in a typical school uniform, posing obediently, but he’s not smiling, completely straight-faced as he looks at the camera and it makes Liam feel vaguely uneasy. He keeps a hold of the photo though as he flips past a bunch of photocopied pages of more police notes, looking for the aged up estimation photo Louis’ sure to have added in amongst the other files. But what he finds instead before he gets there gives him pause.

There’s a collection of hospital records—medical history write-ups, x-rays, doctors’ notes, and things of the like—all of which point to a particular backstory that has Liam on edge. Liam doesn’t want to jump to conclusions but one thing you learn in the social work field is to recognize certain signs and patterns and when he skims back through the doctors’ notes and the police notes he bypassed earlier he finds his suspicions confirmed.

Whoever this kid is he was abused. Heavily. And often. According to the cops that were initially working the case though it’s not clear whether it was the mother or the father or both.

Liam sees why Louis gave the file to him now. This is him asking whether they should leave well enough alone and rule this case inclusive—marking Alec as an orphan unofficially—or dare to reach out and hope that things have changed for the better.

Fuck.

He hates that he has to be the one to make this decision. But this is his job now, this is what he signed up for.

Flipping through the rest of the files and documents haphazardly, he skims through more notes and red flags. Gleans that the parents were both junkies who on one occasion had even left the kid unattended and he’d end up overdosing on a whole host of drugs. It’s a miracle he even survived seeing as he was barely six years old at the time, but that’s ultimately what solidifies it for Liam. No way in hell is he sending this kid back to them.

At least that’s what he thinks until he gets to the aged up photo.

The limitations of the software and its estimations mean that the photos aren’t always the most accurate but they’re pretty damn close most of the time.

And this one’s a dead ringer for Twenty-two.

Double fuck.

He needs to call Zayn. He can’t make this decision alone.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's actually like 10 of you still reading yay! Hi 10 loyal readers, I love ya'll! xD
> 
> FYI might have to take a brief break again after this chapter depending on how my schedule goes this coming week cause i’m not sure how much time i’ll have to work on the coming chapters but just wanted to let y'all know that so no one's too concerned if there's no update for a little while after this
> 
> also, so i know we were kind of already in the future but now we’re gonna be going WAYYY into the future, into 2019 wooooo!!! :D
> 
> [and we'll unfortunately be skipping zayn’s birthday again cause there's just way too much going on rn soz although i may decide to do an outtakes scene on it but no promises]

_Zayn_

“What’s the address?” Zayn says when he gets the call from Liam about Twenty-two and his family.

“Zayn—”

“What’s the address?”

“You can’t—”

“I _can_. I know Louis’ already found it, so what is it?”

Liam sighs, rattling off two addresses to him in a tone that makes it clear he doesn’t really want to but is too exasperated to fight with Zayn right now. “The first one’s where they were living back when he went missing. According to Louis’ notes the father still lives there but there’s a second address that looks like it’s for the mother. She’s changed her last name, either remarried or just using a different one, but he’s pretty sure it’s still her.” The line goes quiet for a moment, Liam pausing before adding on, “ Just…just don’t do anything stupid, please.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and even though Liam can’t actually see him Zayn knows that Liam knows that he is. “ _Relax_ , I’m not gonna do anything to them…even if they do deserve it. I’m just gonna go and do a bit of recon, see what they’re living like now. Whether they’ve changed at all and if they even deserve a second chance with him.”

He hears Liam sigh again on the other end of the line but then he’s saying, “Alright…let me know what you find.”

“’Course.”

*

The first address is indeed the father’s. Zayn can see the resemblance through the window of the dilapidated flat the second he sees the man. He’s older, skin ragged and weathered from years of drug use, but the features are the same. His hair may be greyer around the edges and his eyes may be duller but the relation is unmistakable. His clothes nearly hang off his rail thin frame, probably another side effect of the drugs, but in a funny kind of way it makes the resemblance even plainer because for a long time that’s how Zayn was most used to seeing Twenty-two as well.

He lives in a fairly rundown estate* made up of similarly neglected flats in a shitty neighborhood and Zayn surveils him from the balcony of a recently evicted flat in the mirroring estate building. He doesn’t do much outside of sitting around drinking, shooting up, or grumbling angrily at the telly or at no one in particular in all the time Zayn watches him though. Zayn comes back for three days in a row and it’s always the same. He doesn’t work, probably makes just enough money to pay rent by selling drugs and doing other odd jobs, and it’s clear he hasn’t changed a lick in the nearly twenty years that have passed. He’s a lost cause.

The mother on the other hand’s made a complete one-eighty. By the looks of it she’s cleaned herself up. She has a house and a family, a young boy and a girl, both probably not much younger now than Twenty-two was when he was taken, and she lives in a fairly decent neighborhood. She’s remarried and both her and her husband seem to have stable jobs. Zayn’s not sure where the husband works as he didn’t really bother to keep close tabs on him. But after surveilling the mother for a few days he finds out she works as a hairdresser and sets her schedule so that she’s able to drop off and pick up her kids to and from school in the afternoons even though they’re close enough, and the neighborhood’s safe enough, that they could just as easily walk. Part of him wonders if that’s down to residual fear over what happened to Twenty-two, but it’s also possible it could just be her being a normal worried mother. She clearly hasn’t forgotten about him though because she keeps an old photo of him up on the mantle of their living room along with all the other family photos, and that’s what ultimately helps Zayn make his decision.

He knows better than anyone that people deserve a second chance and it’s clear that she’s really made an effort to turn her life around and, most importantly, hasn’t tried to hide from her past or hide it from her family either. Though how much of the gory details they know he can’t be sure.

Twenty-two’s father may be a definite no, but from what Zayn’s seen he thinks it might be okay—good even—for Twenty-two to at least have the chance to reconnect with his mother if nothing else. And that’s exactly what he tells Liam once he’s seen all he needs to see.

*

“Do you remember anything at all about your parents?” Zayn asks when he sees Twenty-two next. The others are all on visits, both of the girls with Twenty-three’s family and Six with his, so it’s just the two of them today, sat outside on a stone bench in the building’s courtyard taking in the scenery. The wide yard stretched out before them, dotted with shrubbery, narrow walkways, and other benches, and the sun high in the sky.

“No. Or…I don’t think so.” Social skills classes are paying off then, he’s using contractions more and more often now. They’re all learning so much faster than Zayn had and it still surprises him sometimes, but then again they’ve got a lot more structure than he did so he supposes that’s to be expected. “But I have been having strange dreams,” Twenty-two continues. “There is a woman, she has blond hair and her voice is kind and sometimes I dream of her singing to me but I can never see her face clearly. There are other dreams too. Ones not as…benign, though the details are indistinct. And at random intervals I recall a particular scent but can’t remember what it belongs to. It smells the same as a target’s breath would always smell after they had consumed a decent number of beverages at one of those civilian meeting places they call pubs.”

“Beer,” Zayn says and Twenty-two nods.

“Yes…yes, I remember now, that is what it is called. Although I still do not understand why they drink it. They seem to enjoy it a great deal, especially on that television program about adolescents that we’ve been watching, the one that is called Skins.”

Zayn smiles. “It might be hard to understand now, but it can be fun, drinking. All the…the rigidness and the rules that are in your head kind of…fall away a bit. It makes it so it doesn’t feel so much like a constant fight with yourself.”

“And you enjoy it?” Twenty-two asks.

Zayn shrugs, smiles again. “Yeah…it’s nice if you’re with the right people and in the right headspace.”

Twenty-two regards him for a moment until both their attention is drawn to the sudden wailing of a police car siren in the distance. Thinking about it after the fact Zayn smiles to himself yet again as he realizes they probably make a bit of a funny sight. Imagines that to anyone else watching they must look a bit like dogs, startling at faraway sounds that no one can else can hear.

Once the noise of the siren has passed though the two of them settle back into a comfortable silence for a while before Zayn finally speaks again.

“Do you think you would be alright with meeting your mum?”

Twenty-two is silent for a while too, thinking, before he answers. “Yes. I think…I think that I would like to know more about where I come from…about my past.”

Zayn turns to him with a surprised smile. “Look at _you_ , using the word ‘like.’ Somebody’s clearly getting top marks in class. Who’s the civilian now?”

“That is a rhetorical question, is it not?”

“ _And_ he knows what rhetorical questions are? Someone’s clearly trying to come for my title. Guess I better watch out.”

Twenty-two predictably doesn’t say anything in response but he does watch Zayn raptly and Zayn knows it’s about the closest thing to amusement that Twenty-two’s capable of as it stands right now so he’s calling it a win.

*

“Have you ever killed someone before?”

“Yes.”

“Too quick. Go again. This time show a bit more hesitation,” Zara says, standing on the other side of the meeting room table. “Have you ever killed someone before?”

Zayn pauses, lets just a hint of the guilt he actually feels pour through in his answer this time. “Yes.”

“Good. Perfect.” Zara gives a sharp nod. “Almost every question you answer from the defense is likely going to be one where you’ll want to show a bit of hesitation in your answer. It makes you look more remorseful to the jury. It’s even more impactful if you can add a little bit of that same emotion you just showed. Doesn’t matter whether it’s real or fake, the more emotion the better, the jury won’t know the difference and it’ll only help to endear you to them even more. We may have lots of damning evidence on our side but so do they and you can bet they’re going to use every bit of it against you to try and turn this all around on you. You may not be the one on trial here but they’ll do everything in their power to make it feel like you are so you need to be prepared for that.”

Zayn nods.

He’s been seeing more and more of Moira and Zara as the date for the trial looms closer and it’s nearly upon them now. Just a couple more weeks. Normally it would’ve been way longer—closer to six months to be exact—from the time he officially filed the suit, which was just over a couple of months ago now, to the start of the trial. But just like the case with Ellis and Asaad this whole thing has been fast tracked so it gets to court quicker because of the fact that it’s so high profile. Which means they’ve had to squeeze in a _lot_ of prep in a little bit of time, but if anything he’s glad for it honestly because all that waiting would have been torture. It’s been hard enough just waiting it out through these last couple of months, and he knows things are only going to get a whole lot harder once the trial starts but right now he just wants to _get there_.

“We’ll likely be putting you on the stand first, before anyone else, so we can get all the tough questions from our side and the defense out of the way early on, that way we can spend the rest of the duration of the trial focusing more on the evidence and the trauma you all endured and the jury will already have had a chance to hear your testimony and have that in the back of their minds as we go through everything else. I know some days are probably gonna be harder for you to stomach than others especially during the times where we’ll be going through the photos and the footage and walking the jury through everything step by step, but it’s very important that you be there every single day even after we’re through questioning you. Showing up everyday will show the jury that you’re reliable, but also even more importantly that you’re determined. And it’ll look especially good for you if the defendants opt to try and waive their right to be present and just have their lawyers stand in for them. We won’t know for sure of course if that’s the route they’ll try to go until we start the trial but if they don’t show for the Magistrate Court hearing and/or the pre-trial there’s a good chance they won’t show for the actual trial either. Which is good for us in the long run because no matter how much the defendants might want to protect their image and standing in public eye, them not being there when _you_ are only makes them look more guilty, like they’ve got something to be ashamed of, which we know they do. And the guiltier _they_ look the less guilty you look in comparison.”

Zayn nods again. He’d hoped he’d be able to look Ellis and all the others in the eye, all the visitors and Doctors and higher-ups alike, see the looks on their faces as he described everything they did to him in detail. If they don’t show he won’t get that, but at least there’s still a silver lining in the fact that it could help up his chances of winning.

They run through more questions for a while, talk through a bit more of the nuances of the trial that are to be expected until after about three hours they finally call it a day. Zara and Moira pack up their notes and Zayn stands, walking out with them. Zara leans against the corridor wall as Moira closes the door behind them before walking ahead and Zayn moves to follow. But Zara lays a hand on his arm before he can, beckoning him over to the wall with her.

He goes, leans against it next to her and turns to her inquisitively, waiting. She’s silent for a little while, watching people pass them by up and down the corridor. The sound of Moira’s heels clicking in the distance grows fainter as she moves further and further up the walkway, turning back to wave goodbye to them briefly when she realizes they’re not behind her, before rounding the corner out of sight. The silence lingers on for a few more moments before Zara finally turns to him, gaze as calculating as always.

“I’m gonna be straight with you. Moira won’t say it because she’s too polite—and too white—but you and I both know that this is only going to be made harder by the fact that you’re brown and Muslim. It’s a toss-up as to whether or not the defense will even bother to bring it up seeing as they’ve already got so much against you and they might feel like it’s overkill but you can bet most of that jury will already be biased against you the moment they see you, even without the defense bringing it up outright. We can try to weed out as many as we can from the jury pool, any obvious Tories and racists and that, but we can only do so much and they’ve got fair game too as to who _they_ weed out. So when you get on that stand you can’t make _one_ fuck-up. No accidental cursing slips, no angry outbursts, no matter how much the defense tries to rile you up. _No mistakes_. They don’t need an excuse. Not for people that look like us. They won’t forgive you as easily as they would some white boy. You need to be _perfect_. Show just enough emotion, but not too much. Speak as proper and as clearly as you can. Make yourself look as small and non-threatening as possible. You get me?”

Zayn nods. He can do that. After all, he’s had lots of practice controlling his emotions, his speech, his demeanor. He can do it again.

*

“Why does it have to be you?” Liam sighs into his neck. “I mean…I’m not—I know _why_. I just…I just wish it didn’t have to be you.”

They’re stood together in the bathroom in a weird parallel of the day Zayn first met Zara and Moira for preliminary talks, back before he’d even filed the suit. Liam’s draped over Zayn’s back, his arms still wrapped around Zayn’s neck from where he’d helped him do up his tie and Liam turns his face from Zayn’s neck to rest his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“I know,” Zayn says. “But I’m the only one that can. Maybe…maybe if we’d had a few more months, if this all hadn’t been pushed up like it was…maybe then more than just me could’ve had a say, but…as it is?” Zayn shakes his head. “The others…they’re not prepared for this kind of thing, they wouldn’t understand ninety percent of what was going on and even attempting to put one of them on the stand would be a disaster. You remember how it was. One wrong question and they’d start spiraling, mouthing off some rote answer and creeping the jury out, or reciting a kill or a mission in gruesome and explicit detail. Five minutes of that and they’d be petitioning to burn us _all_ at the stakes.”

Liam sighs again. “I know,” he says with a forlorn expression. “I just wish you didn’t have to go through it at all. It’s not fair. Between the mountain of evidence they have and all the sworn statements from you and all the psychologists and doctors and cops and everyone that’s interacted with you all there shouldn’t even need to be a trial. I mean you guys have been through enough as it is and now they wanna make you relive it all over again? It’s not fair.”

Zayn shrugs. “It’s justice.”

“Their version of it anyway,” Liam grumbles.

“Maybe…but _I_ chose this.” And he knows Liam knows what he’s saying without him having to voice what he means. He could’ve handled this any other way. He could’ve handled it his _own_ way, the same way _they_ taught him. Gone after them one by one until there was no one else left. There would have been a funny kind of poetic justice in that, he thinks. But this is what he chose. Now that he no longer has to fight for his life—well, not in the same way _he’s_ used to anyway—he has that choice. And as long as he has that choice he’s doing this the right way.

*

Zayn stands at the bottom of the steps of the courthouse with Liam at his side and both of his families at his back. The Magistrate’s Court hearing is over and done with, had been more just a formality than anything because everyone knew with the seriousness of the charges it was going straight to the Crown Court anyway. And once it got past that and onto pre-trial—where both sides had presented any evidence they planned to use in the trial and the defense had made their formal “not guilty” plea—it’d been much of the same.

But now they’re here, _really_ here. The first official day of trial.

This is it. The second he steps inside the doors of this building is the second everything changes.

He’s nervous but not for the reasons everyone might think. He’s prepared for anything that might be thrown at him throughout his process, all the things people are going to be saying and thinking about him. But none of that is what matters. Not really. Not to him.

What matters is people hearing the truth. The whole story once and for all. And (hopefully) ruling in a way that gives all of them, not just him, a chance at real justice and peace. A chance to live the lives that should’ve never been taken from them in the first place without always looking over their shoulders, worrying it could all be ripped away again in a heartbeat. And most importantly ensuring that it never happens to anyone else ever again.

*

Once each side has had a chance to make their opening statements and lay out all their arguments, everything speeds up, feels like it goes from slow motion to hyper speed in a blink.

“The prosecution calls its first witness, Zayn Malik, to the stand,” Moira says and Zayn takes a deep breath and walks up to the witness stand.

He’s sworn in on the Quran, which is a little bit ironic considering he’s not even really a practicing Muslim anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time obviously, though only more recently by his own choice. And not because he has anything in particular against faith or religion—after all, to each their own and all that—just that, after everything, he’s found his faith and belief in things tends to gravitate towards the more tangible. Things he can see and touch and hear for himself, that he can be sure are real, things that he can depend on, that he can safely put his trust in without fear of getting hurt or betrayed. And as much as he’d like to believe that there’s some greater force out there looking out for him, and for humanity as whole, given the givens it’s not as easy for him to put his trust in that anymore.

He jokingly thinks to himself that it might have been more accurate to have him sworn in on a dictionary than anything else. But Moira and Zara had both stressed that it would look good to the jury, even if they weren’t all wholly on board with Islam, to show that he had a clear moral standing. It’s a risk, playing against people’s ingrained stereotypes and hoping instead that they see the good in it. But for those that will, it might make it just that much harder for them to see him as a senseless killer when the first image they’ll have of him in their minds is as a religious man, grounded by faith and family, even if the second one is the only one that’s really true.

Zayn gives his oath,* casting a cursory glance over at the defendants’ table, which, to be expected, is full of nothing but a team of lawyers. None of the defendants had shown for the Magistrate Court hearing or for pre-trial, so it’s no surprise that they’re not here now, even if Zayn does wish he could look them all in the eyes for this. But still it’s all the better for Zayn and his team and their overall case anyway because _he’s_ here and _they’re_ not and if that isn’t a clear admission of guilt then what is. You only run and hide if you’ve got something to be ashamed of. And that’s not to say that he’s not ashamed of plenty too, of course he is, but at least he’s got the balls to own up to it all, which is more than he can say for any of _them_ , worthless pricks.

Now’s not the time to get angry about it though. He can angry-rant all he wants about it to Liam later but right now he needs to keep a lid on it, at least for the time being.

Moira saunters up to him slowly—she’s the one who’s been designated for all the prosecution witness questioning while Zara will handle all the defense witnesses, which at the moment aren’t many with the defendants being no-shows. It’s mostly just friends and relatives of the defendants, probably only being called for nothing other than to testify that the person they know would never be involved in such a thing or some such bullshit; and a couple of (probably blackmailed) “experts” to counter the prosecution’s experts. Their witness list is fairly weak even objectively speaking and unless they decide to add someone else on at the last minute, based solely on their opening statement and what they’ve entered into evidence it’s looking like their defense is going to play out pretty much exactly like Moira and Zara said it would. Trying to take the heat off their side by making Zayn look like the bad guy, like an unreliable witness whose claims and, by default, whose entire testimony can’t be trusted. But yet again, it’s all the more better for him because if their little one-dimensional argument is all they have to go on it’ll only make the prosecution’s case look even stronger in the long run and hopefully the jury will see that too.

“Zayn,” Moira says, “we’ll start off simple. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

Moira smiles, kind eyes crinkling at the corners as she turns to flash her smile at the jury conspiratorially, a bit of a nostalgic expression crossing her face. “Twenty-five,” she repeats a little reverently with a nod, turning back to Zayn. “And how are you enjoying your twenties so far?”

“Alright, I guess,” Zayn says smiling a little himself, sparing a glance over at Liam.

“It’s a nice age to be, in your twenty’s, isn’t it? Partying, going out with mates…I’m sure we all remember that.” Again she flashes that conspiratorial smile at the jury and there’s a bit of muted laughter, good-natured. “Do you party much, Zayn? Go out with your mates to the pubs or the clubs and things like that?”

“Sometimes.” Zayn nods.

“Twenties,” Moira repeats, low enough that it almost seems like it’s to herself but still loud enough for most of the jury to overhear, shaking her head with that slightly nostalgic look on her face again. “And what was your twentieth birthday like? I bet it was quite crazy, wasn’t it? Lots of drinks, music, friends?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Didn’t have one.”

Moira cocks her head, crinkles her brows. “No? Why’s that?”

“I was, um…I was still in the bunker then.”

“The bunker,” Moira repeats with another nod. “That’s where you were taken as part of the program, isn’t it? The same one that’s been all over the news about kids being kidnapped and turned into child soldiers?”

Zayn nods. “Yes.”

“I take it _they_ didn’t do anything special for your birthday?”

Zayn nearly has to stop himself from snorting even though they’ve practiced this bit numerous times before. “No. I didn’t even know when my birthday _was_. I only knew I was a year older when a year had passed. And I only knew my age because that was one of the few things they allowed us to know about ourselves and about each other, outside of other basic things like height and weight.”

“You’ve been out nearly three years now, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“But that’s only a little shorter than the time they had you, right?”

“Depends on how you define ‘a little,’” Zayn replies.

“Oh?” Moira says, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “How old were you then, when you were taken?”

“Twelve.”

There’s a few looks of surprise from the jury at this.

“Twelve?” Moira repeats, brows still raised. “ _Ten years_ you were in there?”

Zayn nods.

“That’s…I mean, that’s…most of your childhood, isn’t it?” Moira glances briefly over at the jury and her eyes have gone a little sad now. “Locked in a bunker, forced to fight, ripped away from your family and everything you’ve ever known, thinking you _had_ no family. Is that true, that they made you believe you had no family? I mean, that’s what some have been saying on the news but…” Moira trails off, shaking her head. “It’s just so hard to believe.”

“Yes, that’s true. I’m not…sure about the others…I guess everyone has their different ways of rationalizing things and it may sound a bit daft to say here but…I had convinced myself that we were somehow created or, like, came to be _inside_ the bunker.”

“Sort of like a test tube baby?” Moira says.

“I guess,” Zayn replies. “Except that I knew I’d never seen or heard a baby inside the bunker so I figured maybe they did something to us where we just woke up fully grown or something. I mean, I know how mental it all sounds _now,_ but at the time…I didn’t know any better, I just knew they had all kinds of advanced tech so I figured pretty much anything was possible. I’d never really given much thought to the logistics because I didn’t want to be caught questioning things I wasn’t supposed to be questioning so that was about as far as I got in trying to rationalize it all out.”

Moira nods. “It’s understandable given that you had a very limited view of the world. I mean, you didn’t remember anything at all from before, isn’t that right? No family, no friends, no school, no… _where babies come from_ , if I can put it in such a way...” That gets another smattering of laughter from the jury and the audience as well. “Only what they told you, yes? What they made you believe?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Mmm. Now so far we’ve talked quite a bit about things that most of those here might already know a little about or be at least a little familiar with, but there’s still a lot that most of the general public doesn’t know, isn’t there? About some of the things you all went through, starting from your earliest memories in the program?”

“Yes.” Zayn squirms a bit, a little anxious for what he already knows is coming. Not so much the talking about it part but what’s coming after.

“Tell me about that first day waking up in the bunker, what’s the first thing you remember?”

“Pain.”

“Pain,” Moira repeats. “Can you describe that pain?”

“It’s…it’s difficult to describe, and I don’t want to sound like I’m being overdramatic, but…if you could imagine, like…like someone drilling into your skull over and over, and then…lighting a match inside those holes, a pain so strong you can’t breathe and all you have the capacity to be aware of, all you _know,_ is that pain…that’s, um, that’s sort of the closest I can come to describing what it felt like.”

Moira’s silent for a while, letting that sink in with the jury and the rest of the audience, her mouth now set in a grim line. Once a good amount of time has passed she resumes her questioning, tone no longer jovial, but completely serious and with just a hint of sorrow.

“Did you know what was happening, or why?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No. Except for the pain my mind was completely blank. Again, it’s a bit hard to explain, but in that moment I didn’t know _anything_. I didn’t know my age or my name, or even that I _had_ a name, where I was, or what was happening. There was just nothingness. And pain. Constant, agonizing pain.”

“How long did it last?”

“Hours, maybe. I’m not…I’m not really sure. You’re not really aware of time when it’s happening, you just know that it _is_ happening and that’s about all you have the wherewithal to process.”

Moira nods, pauses a moment before walking back to the prosecution table where a little clicker sits above her neat stack of files and notes.

“If I could,” she starts, picking up the clicker, “I would like to direct the jury’s attention to Exhibit A, footage recovered from one of the program’s facilities of what they called the ‘Integration Process.’”

Moira presses a button and the large projector screen on the other end of the room blinks to life, white letters on a black background reading:

Integration Process

Base 3

Potential Operative Five

The black background starts to fade away and Zayn turns his head before it can start, staring resolutely at a spot on the floor to the left of the witness box. He can’t do anything to drown out the sound of the girl’s screams though and he doesn’t have to look to know that she’s writhing in agony on the table just like he was, body fighting against the restraints with all the strength it can muster. Her desperate screams and cries ring out across the room, audible gasps and sounds of shock echoing throughout the jury box and the audience. Moira doesn’t let it play for long. Doesn’t need to. After about two minutes she stops the video, leaving it paused on a scene of the girl’s body twisting as she struggles futilely to move out of the path of the machine above her, and turning back to the jury.

“I know that that footage may have been very hard to watch. Harder for some than others,” Moira says, glancing over at Zayn briefly before turning her focus back to the jury. “But I want to remind you that that was only two minutes of an unimaginably excruciating process. A process which, based on a number of notes and files recovered from the program’s former bases, we’ve been able to gather takes in its entirety approximately eight hours to complete, with only about 85% of those subjected to it surviving.”

She pauses a moment, again giving a bit of time to let that let sink in before she continues.

“According to one of the program Doctor’s own notes, the prime age for surviving the Procedure was between ten and twelve, with seven at the lowest and fourteen at the highest. None of the ‘subjects,’ as they called them, under age seven survived the procedure. The subjects that _did_ survive, after a brief recovery period, would then be taken to begin the second phase of this so-called Integration Process. I’ll spare you the footage as it’s not all that different from what you’ve just witnessed, the only difference being that that machine involves needles, large ones, filled with serums, injected into almost every major vein and artery of the body. I’m sure you get the picture.”

Images flash in Zayn’s mind. Being led down dark corridors by the Director. Forced into a chair by a team of Doctors, kicking and screaming and fighting against the restraints they were trying to strap over him because even when he’d known next to nothing he’d known enough to know that it would not ‘be okay’ like the Director said. That whatever was coming there would only be more pain. Because all there ever was, was pain.

Moira’s voice brings him back to the present again and he blinks, swallows, trying to focus again on what’s in front of him instead of all the memories threatening to rise back to the surface.

“Once subjects made it past phase two, which, again, not everyone survived, though the survival rate at this stage was slightly higher at about 90%, they were allotted a number of weeks to heal, during which time they would also start what was called the Indoctrination Process. Essentially this was a series of brainwashing sessions where they would be fed information and images on a loop.” She turns back to Zayn then. “Zayn, would you mind sharing some of the things you were ‘taught’ in these sessions?” she asks, emphasizing the word taught in air quotes.

Zayn nods. “Of course. It was mostly general things, like what the different roles were in the program, what each person or group’s duty was, that sort of thing. Things like how operatives are agents that exist solely to serve the Director and the program. And of course rules, or protocols, as we called them. Like, um, operatives are to follow the orders given to them by their superiors and to respect protocol. Operatives do not speak unless spoken to. Operatives are only to respond to direct questions or orders. Operatives are not to question their superiors nor are they to question any orders given to them. Stuff about the Director, like the Director is all-knowing and is never to be questioned or disobeyed. The Director’s orders are the primary directive to be followed above all else. And pretty much the same kind of general stuff for some of the other roles like the Handlers, Nurses, visitors, security guards, and other personnel, basic facts about civilians and civilian life.”

“Civilians,” Moira repeats with a nod, “which you believed you weren’t?”

“Yeah. I mean, at that point we were all kind of blank slates so all we knew was what they told us and…the way they phrased things it was like operatives were fundamentally different from civilians on nearly every level…almost like we weren’t even the same species if I can put it that way. Like we were something different, something lower that was only created and only meant to serve, to follow orders. Nothing more.”

Moira nods. “And this was how you saw yourself for over ten years, wasn’t it? For the entirety that you were in the program and even some time after?”

“Yes.”

Moira turns back to the jury, launching into another brief rundown of the early stages of the program process.

“As if this wasn’t already enough, once inducted into the program—that is to say as soon as they were fully healed from the physical trauma of both phases of the Integration Process and had completed the Indoctrination Sessions—subjects were made to immediately begin training as an operative. We’ll get more into the details of what all that entailed in a few moments but as you’ll see throughout the day today and in the coming weeks, even with making it through the Integration Process, the worst of their ordeal was long from over. Starting with the fact that, if you’ll recall the process shown to you in the video, all of the operatives underwent this same ‘procedure’ on a smaller and shorter scale every one to two years, depending on their brain’s plasticity—that is, its ability to heal and restructure itself—and how long it took for them to begin showing signs of the effects of the procedure wearing off.

“If you will, I would like you all to think about just what you’ve heard so far, to think about the girl you saw in that video, to think about the man that sits here before you on the stand today and just _imagine_ for a moment this was your son, your daughter, your brother or sister enduring that kind of excruciating pain for _hours_. Nothing but pain. No memory of you, of themselves or who they are, no memory of _anything_ but pain and agony. And that’s _before_ they pump them full of serums that change their very cellular make-up, force them to undergo rigorous brainwashing sessions, followed by torture sessions to make sure the brainwashing sticks, and rent them out to the highest bidder for sexual favors to be repeatedly raped and brutalized. The defense will likely try to paint things in such a way to make you forget this but these are _children_ , some barely even old enough to ride a bike, being subjected to the worst torture imaginable, their memories wiped—everything and everyone they’ve ever known and loved ripped right out of their heads all in a matter of hours—and then forced into what is essentially child slavery to do the bidding of sick and perverted, crooked government and military officials. That’s what these victims have endured. Some, like Mr. Malik, for more than a decade of their lives. And that’s just barely scratching the surface of all the other trauma they faced at the hands of those on trial today who, by the way, if you hadn’t already noticed, were too cowardly to even show up and own up to their unthinkable transgressions. I urge you to keep all of that in mind not only as we go through the rest of today but throughout the rest of the trial as a whole as well.”

Moira has Zayn go through a walk-through of the set-up of the program, the basic protocols and schedules, feeding time, shower time, sparring sessions and ranking assessments, discipline sessions, the basic set up and run through of a mission—barring the more gory details for now. And that’s not what gets him, running through that’s a cake walk compared to where it ends for the day even though he’d known exactly where it was going from the start. It’s still the hardest to do though, talking about the visitors, describing some of the things he was made to do, or that were done _to_ him. And it’s not even just talking about it that gets to him because he’s talked about it a million times to Liam and to Moira and Zara over the last few weeks and it’s no big deal really. Just another thing that happened to him in the bunker.

But it’s the way everyone _looks_ at him when he does. The way the jury looks at him, the way his parents and his sisters, and Sarah and the boys, and the rest of the audience are looking at him and he describes everything in as much as detail as he can. Because _the more detail, the better_ , he hears Zara’s voice echoing in his head as he speaks. But honestly it’s all the eyes on him that make him nearly want to throw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *an estate (short for housing estate) is basically the uk version of what we call the projects in the u.s., essentially public housing for anyone who might be unfamiliar with either of those terms
> 
> *uk crown court oath if anyone’s curious - “I swear by ______ (according to religious belief) that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
> 
> btw taking some artistic liberties with this whole trial situation cause not all of the terms and procedures/details are quite applicable to uk courts/court system but this is still an au and even with as much as i try to be accurate to real life as possible i can still technically do whatever i want lol so for the sake of this trial we’ll just pretend like certain things are accurate even if they’re not :P
> 
> also not that anyone probably cares lol but alec’s name was inspired by jensen ankles’ character from dark angel, this show i used to watch when i was younger about genetically modified kids trained to be super soldiers (you can see where some of my inspiration comes from besides just marvel/captain america yes lol?) that i had ironically enough completely forgotten all about until recently but which i actually rewatched all the way through for inspiration around the time i first started working on this sequel. i was originally gonna name twenty-two jackson/jason/jace cause for some reason he just felt like a jace or a jax to me but after rewatching the show i was like nope now i have to name him alec and it’ll be kind of like an homage of sorts…there also may or not be other indirect references/homages to the show thrown in here at various points…hint: one of them was the motorcycle scene way back when lol


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! :)

_Liam_

Liam’s just finished getting off the phone with a family to notify them that their child has been identified as one of the former operatives—moving the file over to the pile on his desk labeled _contacted_ —and is poised to start making another call when there’s a flash of movement at his door.

“Call for you on line two,” Kate says, poking her head in the door briefly.

Liam sighs. “Is it the Millers again?”

“It’s Louis actually.”

Liam rolls his eyes, but nods, picking it up and saying into the receiver first thing, “You _know_ this line is supposed to be for case inquiries only, that’s exactly why we shelled out extra for multiple lines.”

“Didn’t want you to ignore me like you usually do,” Louis says.

“Stop being dramatic, I only ignore you when I’m busy and only because you almost always call about something dumb.”

“Drinks are not dumb, Payno, they are a serious matter. Speaking of which, you’re coming out to drinks with us tonight.”

“Louis, it’s the middle of the week, and besides, I’m swamped, I’ve got a shit ton of calls to make and files to look over. You know, for _work_? Which some of us actually do for a living?”

“Rude,” Louis says. And yeah, it kinda was. As much as Liam may joke from time to time Louis does actually do a hell of a lot and none of this would have even been possible without him. Admittedly it wasn’t the best joke to make but still. If Louis can take the piss out of him on a regular basis it’s only fair he be allowed to do the same from time to time. “And anyway this _is_ work. A work meeting. With drinks. At least that’s how we’ll be writing it off for the tax records anyway. And we can even talk about a case or two if it’ll make you feel better.”

Liam shakes his head even though Louis can’t see him, but agrees anyway. “Alright, fine, I’ll come. But I’m holding you to that talking about cases thing.”

“Of course you are.”

*

The gang’s already all there when he arrives, have commandeered a little round booth in the corner and everything, laughing and bumping elbows, all squished together like sardines with a pint each—except for Zayn who’s of course got an entire bottle of jack in front of him, already half-finished by the looks of it. The pub they’re meeting at is not as homey as Niall’s—his would’ve been too much of a hassle to get to from HQ in rush hour traffic so they’d opted for somewhere within walking distance, only a couple blocks away—but it’s still nice all the same. Not too overcrowded or run-down and with a decent atmosphere and decent music.

“Liam!” Niall calls, hands in the air, nearly smacking both Sarah and Harry in the face. “What took you so long, mate?”

“Sorry, had a few more calls I wanted to make before I closed out for the day,” Liam says with an apologetic shrug as he slides into the booth next to Zayn. He’s still in his button down and tie from trial but he’s loosened the tie so the knot’s nearly down to his chest, tan skin peeking out from where the first few buttons of his shirt are undone.

Liam hadn’t gone with him today. As much as he’d like to be there for every moment of it Zayn’s not the only one that needs him right now. Liam’s whittled his schedule down as much as he can, which is part of the reason why he’s so swamped, even more so than usual, because only coming in to the office a couple days a week means a lot gets backed up. Which also means that he inevitably ends up having to play catch up with it all when he does come in.

“How was it today?” he says, low under his breath, just for him and Zayn to hear.

Zayn shrugs. “Meh. Not bad. Just went through more stuff about the routines and about training, talked about the Nurses and feeding time, sparring sessions and that. You didn’t miss much.”

“Still wish I could’ve been there.”

“You were, in spirit,” Zayn says with a soft smile, pulling away and then back into Liam a bit in an attempt to shoulder-check him in the small space and then staying there, the two of them pressed together. “Any interesting calls today?”

“Apart from Louis, not really.” Liam shakes his head, gaze flicking to Niall who’s getting up to grab another round even though none of them has quite finished the first yet, a little too excited at the fact that apparently all their drinks are free because the owner of the place is an admirer of The Craic.

“Not even from Chinese food lady?”

Liam smiles, turning back to Zayn. There’s a woman who calls his line quite regularly almost every week, always with the wrong number, looking to order Chinese takeaway. Apparently the number for the line of theirs meant for case inquiries is two off from a Chinese takeaway restaurant, so from time to time he’ll get a few wrong-number-type calls but she’s the only one who seems to consistently mix up the numbers.

“Not even from Chinese food lady,” he replies with a jokingly forlorn shake of his head.

Niall comes back with a tray full of drinks, passing off two to Liam, so he can “catch up,” and five to Zayn.

“Sorry, mate, he said he can only spare the one full bottle on the house so it’s just gonna have to be pints for the rest of the night,” Niall says in explanation.

Zayn waves a hand dismissively, reaching over to slide all the glasses closer to himself. “S’fine, wasn’t looking to get all that pissed tonight anyway so this is probably, like, the perfect amount actually.”

“Thank you, bartender,” Louis says a little snootily as he takes his own pint from Niall, gulping down the last of the first one in a race with Sarah. Sarah wins of course and Louis tries to act like he’s not a little bit bitter about it but it’s obvious.

So,” Sarah says, taking a couple sips of her second pint, Louis mirroring her, clearly gunning to start another race that he’ll probably lose anyway, “Louis said you wanted to talk about a case?”

Liam nods. “Yeah, um, it’s just…there’s this kid, he’s fourteen, and we’ve contacted his family but…well, to put it bluntly…they don’t want him back. If I close the case then once his recovery period’s over and he’s cleared for release he goes straight into the system, into care,* and I just…I don’t know what to do. S’not like he’d have any chance of getting adopted anyway once any potential families were to find out about his history, so really he’d just be bouncing from home to home for the next four years till he’s old enough to age out. On the other hand, if I leave his case open then he stays in _our_ care for at least a little while longer but…unless we can figure out something else, what good is that really doing outside of just delaying the inevitable, you know?”

Sarah nods, fingers tapping at her glass as she thinks. “D’you think…you think maybe it might be possible to set up something targeted towards families that _would_ be willing to take them on? Kind of like…how there’s adoption agencies for, like, special needs kids and that? I know there might not be very many families who are willing to take them but…I don’t know, wouldn’t hurt to try to reach out to agencies like that, would it? See if one or two of them might be willing to partner with us to start up, like, a sister agency for the op kids? Maybe even a group home or two specifically for them? I mean, they’d still be in the system obviously, but if nothing else, it’s better than bouncing around from home to home, yeah? If we can work it out, I mean?”

“That’s actually a really brilliant idea,” Harry cuts in with an enthusiastic nod. “I could get one of my contacts to write a piece about it to start…see what kind of public interest it garners…”

“Might be good for me to get a copy of that up on the website too,” Louis adds, “that way everyone who goes on it—donors, families, partner companies, and the like—would be more likely to see it and maybe spread the word.”

Sarah nods. “Yeah, that would be really good.”

“I can start calling around in the meantime, see if anyone bites, do a little of my social liaisoning,” Niall adds, arm around Sarah’s shoulders giving her a little squeeze which she answers with a bright smile back at him.

“You guys are ace, you know that?” Liam says.

“Of course,” Louis replies.

“Guess Hannon really was right on the money when he said we had our own little supergroup, huh,” Zayn says with a grin aimed at all of them and another conspiratorial shoulder-check at Liam.

*

 

Zayn’s laid across the couch reading, head resting in Liam’s lap while Liam scrolls through Tumblr on his phone which is about how they’ve been camped out pretty much since early this afternoon. Things had been mostly uneventful earlier today in court, not too many hard-hitting questions or run throughs of really tough evidence, more just run-of-the-mill stuff about hierarchy and protocols and the interworkings of the bunker. And the defense hadn’t had any further questions about that side of things so they’d ended a little earlier than usual for the day and now are just waiting on the gang to get here for their usual Friday night festivities, for which Harry’s apparently already got a movie picked out. The news drones on from the telly, nothing more than background noise until Lauren O’Malley’s voice suddenly chimes in and Zayn sits up.

They’ve been covering the trial ever since it started of course. It’s been the biggest hot topic for weeks and most of the time it’s not much of note. Just rehashing whatever was talked about in court that day according to the journalists in attendance’s tweets and blog posts about it, and then arguing back and forth about what they think of everything. But every once in a while something interesting happens.

They’ve got a panel again, made up of slightly different members than the last one with the exception of Lauren and also Joanna Simpson, the same self-help book author and frontrunner of a charity for at-risk youth from before.

Joanna’s only just started going on a tirade about how supporting the Foundation is equivalent to supporting murder, in a shitty attempt at rebuttal to Lauren’s arguments _for_ support, when there’s a loud rhythmic knock at the door to the tune of We Will Rock You.

When Liam doesn’t answer quickly enough the knocking only gets louder.

“Calm your tits, Louis, he’s coming!” Zayn shouts from the couch.

“Funny, that’s what I said to your mum!” Louis’s muffled voice echoes from the other side of the door.

By the time Liam’s got the door open and Louis comes spilling inside with an exasperated looking Harry in tow Zayn’s already at the kitchen island, leaned against the counter next to the knife block twirling a knife in his hands menacingly. “What was that about my mum?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Show off. How bout you make yourself useful and use that thing to crack open these beers?” He tilts his head at Harry who walks past him with a stack of four six-packs of beer in his arms, which he hefts onto the counter.

Zayn makes quick work of the bottles while Liam and Harry set about getting out bowls for snacks, Niall and Sarah arriving a few minutes later with boxes of pizza and bags full of crisps.

“Niall, you god!” Louis shouts, immediately grabbing for the pizzas without even so much as a hello.

Zayn settles in with his box and six-pack to himself while the rest of them scramble for slices and bottles and pile in around the couch and the floor.

“Oi, quit hogging the crisps,” Louis says to Harry as he reaches for the bowl.

“Shhh, the show’s starting,” Harry whispers harshly, shoving the bowl at him.

“It is _not_ a show, this isn’t even the movie we’re supposed to be watching it’s just a panel discussion same as they do nearly every week—”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Harry repeats sharply, eyebrows knit together and gaze completely glued to the screen.

Louis huffs, taking the bowl and rolling his eyes, but he turns his attention to the telly with everyone else.

Within the panel things have devolved into a sort of verbal tennis match of sorts, the camera panning back and forth between Joanna and Lauren as they argue their respective points.

“…Yes, but you all didn’t kill innocent civilians,” Joanna replies to Lauren’s latest argument.

Lauren looks at Joanna critically. “Tell me, Joanna, do you know how many Iraqi civilians died over the duration of the war?” There’s a pregnant pause as she waits a moment for Joanna respond, clearly already knowing that Joanna won’t because she doesn’t know the answer, before Lauren finally answers for her. “Around 500,000. And that’s that we know of. And only in Iraq, mind you, not even getting into the other countries where countless more lives were lost. And guess what? We come home and you _thank us_ for our service. Do you call _us_ murderers? Are the lives of Iraqi citizens any less valuable than that of the citizens of this country? Do they not matter just the same? Just because it happened over there and not here on our soil doesn’t make it any more right. Yet we come home and we’re praised as war heroes. We had a choice, we chose to sign up for that. These kids didn’t. And they come home and instead of being given the support they deserve after all they’ve been through, people like you shout for them to be locked up, call them murderers and monsters, and say they don’t deserve to be given a second chance when they never even had a first one. Well, if they deserve to be locked up than so do I. So does probably every single soldier who’s served in battle from World War II to now. Cuff me if you like, but I stand in solidarity with them.”

Joanna’s red in the face and clearly itching to respond but before she can the host—who’s not really ever involved in the discussion and only appears briefly in the beginning, middle, and end of the panel discussion to start and end the show, or introduce segments in between the discussion—comes on to announce the “street panel segment.” It’s a segment they started adding to the show ever since the trial started where they ask random people on the street to share their opinions or input on the situation and the case. There’s no real point to it honestly other than to maybe make people at home feel like their opinions are being included in the discussion. But it doesn’t really help anything and rarely serves to drive the discussion forward in any meaningful way. Especially because half the time the people commenting don’t even know all that much about what’s going on and only end up spreading misinformation or saying things that don’t make sense for what’s actually going on with the trial anyway.

“Good evening,” says the host, sat at his large news desk broadcasting from a different room than the one the panel is in. “If you’ve been following along so far you know the discussion this evening has certainly been lively and I want to thank all of our panel guests for their input so far. We’re getting into some very hard-hitting stuff this evening that no doubt will only continue to get more engaging as we follow the outcome of this trial, but now let’s take a moment to hear from our street panel.”

The screen flips to footage of people walking about up and down the busy city streets near the courthouse before the first “street panelist” comes into focus to share their opinion. And then the next and the next, each of their names and ages displayed across the banner at the bottom.

Kylie, 23: I think what happened to them is really sad and all and that they deserve to get help but I don’t think they should be out on the streets, I just wouldn’t feel safe.

Jim, 34: They’re [bleeped out] murderers is what they are, I don’t care if most of them _are_ kids, they’re dangerous and they deserve to be behind bars rotting away in a cell. If you commit mass murder you deserve to be in jail, that’s just the law. It’s disgusting that they’re just letting them all walk free.

Laura, 38: I’m honestly not sure where I stand on it. I mean, on the one hand they’ve done really awful things to a lot of innocent people, and are responsible for a lot of deaths and for destroying a lot of families and I get why so many people are afraid of them and angry at them, but on the other hand they had so many awful things done to them that they didn’t even really know that what they were doing was wrong, you know? And if they _hadn’t_ done what they were told they probably would’ve been killed too so it’s just really sad but I don’t really know what the right thing to do would be and I honestly don’t know how the jury is gonna be able to make a decision because I sure wouldn’t be able to if I were them.

Brittany, 20: I hope they all rot in jail! They’re [bleeped out] animals! Do you hear me you [bleeped out] dickhead [bleeped out]? You’re [bleeped out] monsters, all of you! I hope you rot!

Mark, 44: I know it’s a bit of an unpopular opinion but I honestly think we deserve to give them a chance. I mean, most of them are still kids and people keep forgetting they were _forced_ to do these things. I’ve got kids myself and I can’t imagine something like this happening to one of them or what those families must have gone through and _still_ be going through but if it had been one of my kids this had happened to I know I would hope that people would be sympathetic and understanding. I think a lot of people need to try and put themselves in these kids’ shoes and in their families’ shoes because so many people are calling for them to be locked up and to throw away the key but if it was _their_ kid it had happened to I’m sure they’d want mercy as well.

Maria, 52: I think they’re evil. I think every one of them is evil and that God was punishing them and that’s why He allowed them to be taken. If they were truly good He wouldn’t have allowed any of this to happen to them. God loves all His children, He protects them all and He would never let anything bad happen to them as long as they follow His way. But He didn’t protect these children because they’re _not_ His children, they’re spawns of Satan. All of them. Especially that Muslim fairy one. I think God wanted to punish him the most.

Jamie, 29: I just think they’ve been through enough, honestly. They should just let them go home to their families and forget this whole trial. I mean, the real monsters are the government big wigs and the MOD agents that set it all up and kept it going and kept it all quiet for all this time. If you just look at everything that came out from the program’s information leak all those months back there’s plenty of evidence to prove all of that even without this trial, so if anything, _they’re_ the ones that should be locked up without trial, not the victims. It’s way past time for people to stop giving all these bureaucratic arseholes a pass, _they’re_ the ones whose heads everyone should _really_ be calling for.

Tom, 60: Don’t even get me started, it’s all lies! The whole government is a lie, and this whole trial is a ploy to distract us from the real issues. The government is listening to everything, they’ve got eyes everywhere, they know how to distract us. You have to stay awake and not them control you, they don’t want us to know that it’s all a conspiracy but it is, I see the truth! All you have to do is open your eyes!

Amélie, 31: I don’t care that they were being controlled or forced or whatever, what they did was _wrong_. If they really wanted to they could’ve run away or tried to fight back or something but instead they just kept doing it and now they want everyone to just forgive them? It’s ridiculous and disgusting! No, I won’t forgive them and I think they deserve whatever sentence they get.

Brielle, 26: I’m kind of on the fence about it, I mean, I think they definitely deserve to get help but I do think they should also have some kind of consequences, you know? Cause then what kind of message are we sending? That you can just hurt people and kill people and you don’t have to face any punishment for that? I don’t think that’s fair. Even if they _were_ being controlled or didn’t think they had a choice or whatever, they still did it. It sucks that so many terrible things happened to them, yeah, but if we let them walk free without any consequences then what’s to stop the next person who gets accused of murder from just saying they were forced to do it and getting off scott-free? I don’t know that they necessarily deserve jail time, but I don’t think they should just be able to walk away without facing any kind of consequences either.

When the show finally returns to the actual panel, Joanna appears more emboldened than ever by the “street panelists’” arguments, as if so many of them validating her somehow proves her point.

“Do you see?” she says to Lauren. “People are _afraid_ , and they have every right to be. The _things_ these… _operatives_ are capable of, it’s just not safe for them to be out among regular people.”

“Boooo!” Louis shouts, throwing crisps at the screen along with Niall.

“Not all of them,” Lauren answers. “Not all of them are afraid. And even for the ones who _are_ afraid I would argue they’re more afraid of difference and of anything or anyone different from themselves than anything else. And I don’t think I’m remiss in saying that the same is true of you. You say operative like it’s a dirty word. You never refer to them as victims. In fact you seem to want to completely forget or ignore the fact that that’s what they are. Many of them children too in case you’ve forgotten that as well. It’s quite interesting to me that someone who claims to be so passionate about ‘helping’ at-risk youth is so willing to throw perhaps the _most_ at-risk youth under the bus so callously. Makes me wonder which one is for show, and I think I know which.”

“How _dare_ you—” Joanna starts at the same time that Sarah says, “Oh shit.”

“I _do_ dare,” Lauren says, “because if you _really_ cared about helping kids as much as you claim you do, or at least want people to think you do, then you would at least have the heart and the decency to refer to them as such because that’s what they are. _Kids_. Kids who were thrust into the most horrendous situations and forced to commit and endure unspeakable things, not all that unlike the kids you claim to help with your charity. Kids who need help and support and care, not jail time.”

“I’m sorry but I have to agree with Lauren,” says another veteran now turned journalist on the panel named Tara Novak. “I just have a hard time understanding how this is all that different from soldiers suffering from PTSD. Everyone keeps arguing that they wouldn’t feel safe with these kids out on the streets but, I mean, as a soldier you go out to war and you do horrible things—just like they were made to do, mind you—and then you come home and you struggle with PTSD and reconciling with all the horrible things you did, but no one’s demanding that all of us soldiers be locked up in jail or in a mental facility for the rest of our lives or kept off the streets because we’re a danger to society.

“These kids were trained to do awful things, yes, and they were forced to go out and do those things to a whole lot of people for a lot of years— _too long_ honestly—but you don’t see them _choosing_ to go out and do those things to people now that they’re free and actually have a choice about it, just like you don’t see soldiers choosing to go out and do the things they did in war to people here at home—or most of them anyway—so why should these kids deserve to be locked up any more than soldiers do? The fact is if you feel safe with soldiers walking around on the streets then you should feel just as safe with the program victims walking around on the streets too. They’ve been through some horrible things but they’re no different than the rest of us really, they just want a chance to live their lives and I think we owe it to them to give them that chance.”

“But they weren’t fighting a war,” Jared Renthrop, a right-wing political activist and blogger, argues. “Frankly, I have to agree with Joanna on this and with what some of the street panelists said. I mean, even if they felt like they were being forced or whatever, what they did was still _wrong_. Why stay in the program for all that time if they knew they were just gonna keep being told to do all those awful things? Why not try to escape or at least try to fight back? Especially with all those skills they had. They could have left or rebelled or any of that but instead they stayed and just kept going along with it and now that they’re out here where everyone knows about them they’re suddenly begging for forgiveness? It’s just not right. They hurt people, _killed_ people, destroyed families, and in this country if you break the law, if you _murder_ people, you deserve to pay for it.”

“First of all,” Lauren says, “if that’s your argument you clearly haven’t been following the news updates of the trial one bit so I’m not even sure why you’re on this panel or what you have to contribute really, and second of all you clearly also have no understanding of how threats work nor how hierarchy in the military works or how stringent it is so let me enlighten you. In the army if your C.O. tells you to do something, even if it’s something that you don’t agree with or you don’t want to do, nine times out of ten you’re going to do it. Because that’s what you’ve been trained to do. That’s how things work in the military. It’s not the nicest system but that’s how it is, that’s just the plain truth. You do what you’re ordered. And that’s speaking as a person who was fully aware of the fact that I _had_ a choice, was capable of making that choice and could choose not to.

“These victims didn’t even _have_ that luxury and on top of that they didn’t have the capacity at the time to feel sadness or remorse for anything they’d done, which is the main thing that would’ve stopped them and unfortunately a big part of what they have to deal with now, having to face the memories of themselves as these cold-blooded monsters that they now have to reconcile with. And not only that but the fact that in the situations they were in, _any_ instance of disobedience no matter how small was met with the most cruel, inhumane of punishments, punishments we don’t even condone in this country for the most vicious of criminals. So in a lot of ways I think what they faced was exponentially worse than what you would face as a soldier in a war. Yes, they may not have been in a war politically speaking, but they were certainly in one metaphorically speaking. Against their own minds, against their superiors in the program, against nearly the entire top tier of the government and the military. The ones who were aware of it and did nothing to stop it, and _especially_ the ones who openly took advantage of it, not only in the form of disgusting sexual favors but also in paying for and ordering hit jobs on their own personal enemies and torture sessions to force information out of people in addition to abusing and torturing these children themselves. And all of this while keeping their own hands and, seemingly—on the surface anyway—their own money clean.

“These kids may not have been stationed in some desert fighting off rebel factions of terrorists, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t just as much of a warzone living through that hell than our experiences were. They had every ounce of their humanity, every emotion, every memory, every thought that made them who they were, completely stripped away, spent years being tortured into submission and were made to believe that all they were good for, all they would _ever_ be good for was as a sex object and a killing machine. No chance of freedom, not even the _thought_ of freedom, because they stripped them down so fully they didn’t even know how to function by themselves, let alone conceive of the possibility that they could go anywhere or do anything that they hadn’t been told to do.

“Imagine that for a second, not even _being_ _able_ _to conceive_ of the fact that you can take one step, make one move on your own. You would simply stand there until you dropped because no one had given you an order to move. That was the thought process of these victims. So how then could you expect them to think of running away or of disobeying or fighting back when the very core of everything they did and everything they thought was based on whether or not they had been told to do it. You can’t make that argument in this situation. It’d be like trying to tell a paralyzed person to get up and walk. You wouldn’t say to them, _well, you have legs, why didn’t you ever try_? Because you know that despite the fact that they may have legs just like you do, that’s not how it works. The problem is we don’t think of things the same way when it’s the brain.

“When it’s mental instead of physical we think just because we can’t see it isn’t real or that it can be magically fixed just by the power of motivational thought but that’s not how it works. You can’t act on something if you don’t even think it’s possible for you. You wouldn’t ever think of escaping or trying to fight your superiors, much less acting on it, in a situation like that, in the same way that you wouldn’t ever climb on top of a building and try to fly. Because it’s something that you don’t believe is possible. So why would you even think of doing it, much less actually trying it? Do you see how your argument is invalid?”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “Did she just…”

“She did.” Sarah nods slowly.

“ _Ho-ly shit_ ,” Louis says.

“Exactly,” Sarah says. “That’s _definitely_ gonna be my new catchphrase. From now on whenever anyone tries to argue with me about anything I’m just gonna look like at them calmly, just long enough so they know they’re wrong, and tell them do you see how your argument is invalid? And that’s it, case closed, argument won.”

“Argument won for the rest of time,” Niall agrees, popping a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

*

It has not been a good morning. Not in the least.

To start Liam had woken up to a text from Danny (Not Nice Danny) completely out of the blue that just read: _so you left me for a murderer?_

Liam’s since deleted and blocked his number the same as Danny had done to him all that time ago, but then came Jerry. To put things nicely he’s been less than understanding about this whole trial situation. He hadn’t been happy about Zayn’s press release for the Foundation a few months back and even less so about the trial and he’s gotten increasingly brazen about making it known.

The evening after Zayn’s press release they’d come home to find a sticky note on their door in Jerry’s messy scrawl that simply read “Strike three,” followed by a string of more passive-aggressive notes and warnings in the following weeks and months, the latest of which had come just this morning. With the start of the trial and all the fanfare surrounding them things had only gotten worse, more hectic, not only with Jerry but with the media as well. The press regularly gathers outside their flat building in the mornings and afternoons when they know Zayn and Liam will be leaving or coming back from the courthouse or to and from work and they’re not easy to ignore, though he and Zayn manage. But all the press is both a blessing and a curse though because with all the spotlight on them Jerry can’t technically kick them out without bringing back flack on himself so there’s that at least.

And then of course there’s the trial. Most of yesterday was spent with more direct examination questions for Zayn from the prosecution before the judge called a recess for the day. Which means that today the defense had gotten to start right off with their cross-exam and it’s yet another shitty addition to an already monumentally shitty day.

They’ve spent all morning railing on Zayn and it’s not like it’s the first time but that doesn’t make it any easier. They play more footage taken from eye cams again, re-hash many of the same things the prosecution had brought up yesterday, about training and sparring sessions and missions. Except of course this time it’s from the frame of the operatives all being killers and nothing more, not the tortured victims they were. Anything at all to make Zayn and all of the others look worse than the monsters they’re getting paid to defend.

“Mr. Malik, how many people have you killed?” Reynolds, the defense lawyer cross-examining Zayn starts, all of the other lawyers at the defense table already poised to take notes.

Zayn pauses briefly before saying, “…I don’t know exactly.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Liam knows he has a pretty good idea, even if he’s never quite been able to stomach the idea of tallying up the exact number, but he remembers almost every one. How could he not when they’re the main things that haunt his dreams most nights? When he’s been cursed with a memory as sharp as the one they gave him?

“If you had to make a rough estimate?” Reynolds pushes.

“Objection, relevance,” Zara interrupts.

“Goes to the argument of character, Your Honor, to show how dangerous these people are to society and ultimately whether or not they can be trustworthy, particularly in regards to testimony,” Reynolds says.

“I’ll allow it.” The judge nods.

Zayn looks down at the stand but still doesn’t say anything, fiddles his hands together anxiously.

“Answer the question, Mr. Malik,” the judge says when too much time has passed and Zayn still hasn’t said a word.

Liam sees him swallow nervously before leaning forward a little, into the mic. “Maybe…around two hundred.”

There are a few sounds of surprise and shocked expressions from the jury and the audience and Liam clenches his hands in his lap. He hates that they’re bringing this up, that they’re _making_ him say this in front of everyone, as if he had a choice about any of it.

“Two hundred…” Reynolds repeats, tone musing, “being a bit modest there aren’t we, Mr. Malik?”

“Objection, argumentative,” Zara counters.

Reynolds holds up a hand in surrender. “I’ll withdraw. But I would like to present Exhibit 16*, a compilation of reports detailing Mr. Malik’s kills…what we could find anyway of what’s left of his records.” Walking back to the defense table he picks up a packet of papers and flips through the pages, stopping once he reaches the desired one and sauntering back to place it on the stand in front of Zayn. “As the prosecution has made clear previously, much of the would-be evidence from Mr. Malik’s bunker was unfortunately destroyed so what evidence we do have on him is partial and incomplete, but back-up copies of these reports were discovered on servers at another program facility. Can you read that number there at the bottom out loud for me, Mr. Malik?”

Zayn hesitates again, clearly not wanting to but it’s not like he has a choice in the matter. Voice shaky and low he finally reads, “278.”

“ _278_ …that’s _a lot_ of people Mr. Malik. A lot of mothers and fathers and sons and daughters that those families won’t ever get back. That’s quite a lot of blood to have on your hands. And seeing as how the reports are incomplete I’m guessing that’s not even the full number.”

“Objection, is there a question here?” Zara interrupts.

“I’m getting to one, Your Honor.”

“Well then get to it, please, Mr. Reynolds.”

“278 kills,” Reynolds repeats again. “Would you say that number’s about average for most operatives, Mr. Malik?”

“Objection, speculation.”

“He spent ten years living, training, and killing side-by-side with these other operatives, Your Honor, it stands to reason he might have at least _some_ idea of their average kill rate,” Reynolds argues.

The judge nods. “Overruled.”

“Mr. Malik?” Reynolds prompts.

Again Zayn hesitates, but finally says, “No.”

Reynolds turns the jury in mock surprise, eyebrows raised, and then back to Zayn. “No? That’s _not_ the average?”

“Most…most operatives…had an average of around a hundred or less.”

“A hundred _kills_?” Reynolds clarifies.

“…Yes.”

“And you know this for certain?”

“Not for certain but…it’s what I was told.”

“By?”

“The Director. I wasn’t _supposed_ to know that kind of thing but he…told me in confidence once.”

Reynolds nods. “And why is it that _you_ have such a higher ‘kill rate’ than most of the other operatives?”

“I was…higher ranked.”

“And how was that determined? Your rank?”

“A number of things. Mostly sparring sessions, but also how quickly and effectively you completed solo missions and your…favorability…among visitors.”

“And what was _your_ rank, Mr. Malik?” Reynolds says, completely ignoring the last part of his answer as if he hadn’t even said it.

“Ten.”

“Out of?”

“Ten.”

“Huh…so you were among the top-ranked?”

“Yes,” Zayn says softly.

“Is that why they sent you on so many more missions?”

“Objection, speculation,” Zara argues.

“Sustained.”

“Withdrawn,” Reynolds replies before turning back to Zayn. “What about the other operatives? Was there anyone else who reached the top ranks like you did?”

“We weren’t exactly given that kind of information.”

“Above your pay grade, huh? You were never curious as to whether or not you were the only one that ranked that high? Never tried to ask around?”

“We weren’t paid. And we weren’t exactly in a position to ask questions. That wasn’t allowed. Anything close to curiosity was pretty much drilled out of us from the moment we woke up.”

“Mmm, but from the sounds of it you seem to have been a favorite of the Director’s, him telling you things in confidence and all. He never mentioned any others that were highly ranked?”

“No.”

“What about during this ranking process? Surely you must have encountered some of the other highly-ranked operatives then? In sparring sessions, perhaps?”

“Maybe…I couldn’t know for sure since we were never told their specific rank and I didn’t know everyone’s designation.”

“Designation?”

“The numbers we were given, that’s how we referred to them. We didn’t have names, we weren’t deserving of that kind of privilege.”

“So other than maybe having a general idea you weren’t able to identify any of the other operatives’ ranks? Say, based on their level of skill while fighting?” Reynolds says in an attempt to return to the previous subject at hand, clearly all too eager to veer back away from anything that might paint them as victims instead of the senseless killers he’s working so hard to make them out to be. But it still backfires anyway.

“Like I said before,” Zayn replies, complete calm belying the inward anger Liam sure he’s feeling right now, “that wasn’t the only factor that determined your rank, and at the time I wasn’t really concerned with figuring it out since they’d taken away my ability to care about that sort of thing or anything else for that matter.”

“So you’re telling me that in all your time there you never happened to, I don’t know, catch a glimpse of any of the other operatives’ tattoos of their rank or anything like that?”

“Standard operative uniform was long-sleeve fitted shirts, so no.”

“Not even while changing or in the showers? You did often shower together in the same room, correct?”

“Objection, is there a point to this line of questioning?” Zara cuts in.

“I’m wondering the same, Mr. Reynolds,” the judge adds.

“Just trying to make sense of some of the fuzzier details for myself and the jury, Your Honor. I’ll move on.” He turns back to Zayn. “Yesterday you talked a great deal about the different teams, the training and different protocols followed for each, but you didn’t mention much about this whole ranking process. And given the military set-up and the whole hierarchical order of things in the program I’m thinking it’s safe to assume that Alpha Team, _your_ team, was the most skilled over Beta, Delta, and Omega Teams. That those still around from your team are at least close to being as skilled, if not more, than you…”

“This doesn’t appear to be moving on, Mr. Reynolds,” the judge says, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“If you’ll allow me just a few more moments, Your Honor.” He turns back to Zayn again. “I’m just curious Mr. Malik as to why you would have left all that out…perhaps because you didn’t want people knowing just how adept you and others like you are at killing? Didn’t want people knowing how many skill levels you surpassed in learning every way there is to torture and snuff out a life like it was nothing? Didn’t want people knowing the truth about just how many people you and your fellow _operatives_ have murdered in cold blood?”

“ _Objection_! Your Honor, this entire line of questioning is nothing more than argumentative _and_ he’s badgering the witness,” Zara argues, hand outstretched toward Reynolds in outrage.

“Sustained. Either ask a direct question Mr. Reynolds or have a seat. You’re really beginning to test my patience and I won’t have you making a mockery of my courtroom or wasting everyone’s time any further.”

“Apologies, Your Honor, I’ll rephrase. Mr. Malik, did you or did you not omit information from your previous testimony thereby concealing the truth about the abominable acts you and your fellow operatives have committed?”

“I can’t answer what I haven’t been asked,” Zayn replies evenly. “Yesterday I was asked about teams and protocols, I answered and explained what I could to the best of my abilities. Today, for the first time, you asked me about ranking and I answered you truthfully and to the best of my knowledge. Of course there are certain things I wish people didn’t know, I think that’s the true for pretty much everyone. But I’m here to tell the truth, _all_ of it, even the parts I’d rather everyone _didn’t_ know if it helps others understand a little better what we went through, and unlike the people you’re defending I don’t have anything to hide. So, no, I did not purposefully omit information from my previous testimony nor have I tried to hide the truth about anything I’ve done from the jury.”

Liam can’t see the expression on Reynolds’ face at the moment from where he’s sitting but he imagines it’s far from a satisfied one.

“No further questions at this time, Your Honor,” Reynolds says sharply and when he turns to walk back to the defense table Liam sees that he’s seething and just barely resists the urge to smirk proudly.

“Permission to redirect, Your Honor?” Moira says.

“Granted.” The judge nods.

Liam breathes a sigh of relief, thankful that the worst of it’s finally over, at least for today.

*

“Hey,” Liam whispers softly, waking Zayn up from an afternoon nap with gentle kisses to his jaw.

He’s on Liam’s side of the bed curled up on his side with the blankets kicked down by his feet, changed into a t-shirt and joggers, his trial clothes tossed haphazardly over the rim of the hamper in the corner. He’s had another rough few days that Liam couldn’t be there with him for because of work and all Liam wants to do right now is make him feel better, help him forget all the stress of the trial.

“Mmm, hi,” Zayn mumbles sleepily, blinking awake and turning to kiss Liam back as he wraps fingers around Liam’s waist where he’s straddled over Zayn hips.

Liam lets Zayn unbutton his shirt and smooth hands over his chest before he pulls back to shrug out of it, watching Zayn tug off his own t-shirt. His hands surge forward to undo Liam’s belt and Liam lets him do that too, but stops him from going any further with hands around his wrists, pushing them back so they’re pinned to the pillow just above his head.

Zayn goes pliant underneath him, letting Liam lick into his mouth with a contented hum, his hands still pinned in one of Liam’s as Liam reaches out to the nightstand drawer. When Liam pulls back Zayn’s eyes go straight to the handcuffs he’s pulled out, still slightly bent out of shape, and Zayn’s lips quirk up into the softest little smile.

“You’re so cute,” Liam chuckles, unable to keep himself from smiling in return as he presses another quick kiss to Zayn’s lips and then clicks the cuffs in place around his wrists.

He kisses his way down Zayn’s chest and he can already feel Zayn starting to get hard underneath him, wiggles his hips a little just to tease and Zayn lets out a soft little moan. Liam traces fingertips down Zayn’s chest, loving the way he shivers just a little at the touch, and then shimmies a little further down his thighs to pull Zayn’s joggers and pants off and maneuver his way out of his own trousers and pants.

Zayn shifts his legs up on instinct, knees bent and thighs splayed wide but Liam shakes his head.

“Mm-mm,” he says, pushing Zayn’s legs back down. He dips down low to give him a few teasing licks—Zayn letting out a string of more soft moans—before straddling him again. Liam reaches up into the pillows for the lube, preps himself quick while Zayn watches Liam’s face with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. And then Liam takes Zayn’s cock in hand, Zayn letting out a soft gasp as Liam coats him in lube, sinking down on him slow.

They both groan when he’s all the way inside, Liam poised stock still on top of him to give himself a moment to adjust. When Liam does start to move it’s with a slow, shallow rock of his hips, just enough to be not enough for Zayn and he smirks a little when Zayn lets out a pitiful little whine.

He reaches up to thread his fingers through Zayn’s own, still obediently pressed to the pillow, but keeps his pace even and Zayn just sighs, resigned. Lets Liam work him over slowly without any real protest outside of the occasional soft whine or whimper.

Liam draws it out, pushes a little to test Zayn’s patience, but also because he knows Zayn loves it despite all his pouting and protesting and his pleading eyes. When Liam finally lets up and gives him the go-ahead Zayn fucks up into him with abandon, all the pent up tension of the trial pouring out of him at once, Liam doing his best to meet him thrust for thrust, fast and hard as Zayn’s moving, and just taking what he can’t.

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn moans, high and reedy, “gonna—”

“Yeah, come on, babe. So good, you did _so_ good.”

Zayn lets out one last breathy whimper and then he’s seizing up underneath Liam, hips rolling and stuttering as he lets out these little chocked off sounds that go straight to Liam’s dick, fucking into him so deep Liam sees stars. He rips a hand free from where his fingers are still intertwined with Zayn’s, wrapping it around himself, and seconds later he’s coming too with a groan all over his fist and Zayn’s belly.

“Fuck,” he rasps, trying to catch his breath.

Zayn giggles a little underneath him, his own chest still heaving too as he lets out a satisfied hum to follow. “That was amazing,” he breathes, fingers twitching against Liam’s with the one hand that’s still in Zayn’s grip.

“Yeah,” Liam breathes back, draping himself over Zayn’s chest, too exhausted to bother holding himself up any longer. The cuffs are completely bent out of shape again—although Zayn can always just bend them back later—and they’re both in need of a shower or at least a wipe down but those are problems neither of them is really up to dealing with right now.

Zayn slips out of the cuffs while Liam slides off of him onto the sheets beside him and cuddles up close. Zayn’s not actually _tired_ tired—more just sated and a little worn out, seeing as he did just wake up from his nap not too long ago—but Liam is. He’s had a long day at work and it’s well established that sex with Zayn always leaves him feeling like he’s just run a fucking marathon so despite how he might fight to stay awake a little longer he falls right to sleep anyway, wrapped around Zayn’s warm body; the sight of Zayn’s sated smile just before Liam’s eyes droop closed letting him know his mission has been properly accomplished. And for a little while he can almost forget about all the daily stress and legal drama that has become their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the british don’t call it foster care they just call it care idk why but yeah lol just wanted to make that clear in case anyone was confused about what that meant
> 
> *for exhibits of evidence one side uses alphabetical labels and the other side numbered labels to avoid confusion
> 
>  
> 
> **also, to see the rest of zayn’s first day of testimony not included in chapter 24, in addition to a couple other outtakes and deleted scenes from the trial so far,[check out the latest chapter (chapter 5) of the outtakes fic!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026617/chapters/34806737)**


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good god getting this chapter done was a fucking mental workout y’all, i’m sweating just from looking back at it now lol but anyway hope you enjoy ;)
> 
> (and also sorry if these last few chapters have been kinda boring...last chapter only got one comment on here and one other response on tumblr which was a bit of a rough blow to my anxiety especially cause one of my worst fears is boring people and i never wanna feel like i'm doing that with this fic so i'm really sorry if anyone's felt that way with how things have been going with the updates lately, but the good news is we're almost through with the trial stuff i promise, so just bear with me for a little longer if you can and things will be getting a little more fun and engaging again after all the trial business is through i swear)

_Zayn_

 

When Zayn arrives at the psych facility to visit Alec and the others he finds things in a bit of disarray the closer he gets to their rooms.

“What happened?” he says to the group of nurses huddled just outside of Twenty-four’s room.

“We had a bit of an incident today,” one of them explains. “She tried to choke Brianne during an episode just a little while ago—”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” Brianne cuts in, shaking her head. “I’ve worked with veterans and PTSD victims before, I know the deal. Everyone’s just making a big thing out of nothing.”

It’s clearly not nothing. She’s got a purple bruise blossoming in a ring around her neck but she just straightens out her pink giraffe-patterned scrubs and waves off the other nurses still crowding her as she continues explaining.

“The real problem is now she’s locked us all out using a paperclip she managed to swipe off one of the medical charts and barricaded the door to boot.”

“Where’s Twenty-three?”

“Therapy session.”

Of course. It’s one of the only things they don’t do together.

Zayn can hear things crashing and breaking on the other side of the door and he winces. “What time does her session finish?”

“Not for another half hour.”

He sighs.

He _could_ pull Twenty-three from her session early, though that’s not really the best option. Or they could just wait it out. Or he could just as easily push past the barricade himself and go in anyway, but with the state she’s likely in right now his presence might only make things worse. She needs Twenty-three. If anyone can get Twenty-four to calm down it’s her.

“Okay,” he says finally, “can one of you go get Twenty-three from her session? Tell Dr. Williams it’s an emergency.”

“Sure thing,” one of the others nods, immediately rushing off down the corridor.

All the commotion drives a few other operatives nearby out of their rooms, peering curiously at Zayn and the nurses. Alec’s room is among those nearby and when he spots Zayn and realizes they’re all in front of Twenty-three’s room he comes over.

“Has this been happening a lot?”

Alec nods. “Most of the week.”

It’s still strange for Zayn getting used to calling him Alec. Though he supposes that must have been how Sarah and the boys felt when he first decided to go from Twelve back to Zayn. But still he hadn’t expected for Alec to make the transition so fast. After all it’s only been a little over nine months since the initial raids and the official program shutdown, only about six since the transfer from police custody and the start of their more streamlined recovery process, and only a few weeks since he reconnected with his mum. But then again, armed with memories from the first iteration and more willing to question all they’d been taught than Zayn was at that stage, Alec had already been kind of ahead of Zayn anyway compared to where Zayn was at that point in his own recovery, so he supposes it’s to be expected. It’s still amazing though how far he’s come in just the last few months, how far they’ve all come really.

“What happened?” Twenty-three says looking worried as she rushes up the corridor with the nurse who’d gone to get her.

“Another tantrum,” Alec says.

Twenty-three runs a hand through her chin length hair and sighs, looking over at the door where there’s still a cacophony of sounds ringing out before she steps up to it.

“Four?” she says with a soft knock, using the abbreviated form of their designations that they like to use only with each other, preferring for everyone to either use their full designations or a different abbreviated form. “It’s me. I’m coming in, okay?”

There’s no answer but the noise suddenly comes to an abrupt stop. Twenty-three steps aside briefly to let one of the nurses unlock the door and then she’s shoving it open, a loud screech ringing out as she pushes all the furniture likely barricading the door back with it until it’s wide enough for her to slip through. Zayn catches a glimpse of Twenty-four huddled in the corner, face wet with tears, bits of smashed wood and plastic and of twisted up metal parts strewn about the little bit of their shared room that he can see. Twenty-three wraps herself around her and Twenty-four burrows into her, sobbing. And that’s about when Zayn thinks it’s high time to clear the corridor.

He shuts the door, thanks the nurses who quickly disperse to go on about their usual rounds, and Alec helps him usher the other operatives back into their rooms.

“So, outside of the tantrums, how is she?” Zayn asks, settling in the armchair in Alec’s room a few minutes later while Alec sits at his desk.

Alec shrugs. “About as well as can be expected I guess.”

“No change since last time?”

“Other than finally getting her emotions back a couple weeks ago, not really. It’s mostly just been this.”

“She still not talking?”

Alec shakes his head and Zayn sighs.

It’s not that she’s not talking at all, just that she’ll pretty much only talk to Twenty-three. With anyone else she only talks when she absolutely has to. Which makes participation in classes and therapy sessions virtually impossible. Not to mention getting anything out of her because they’re still absolutely nowhere with her case and it’d be great if she were willing to share something of her memories, some kind of clue maybe to point them in the right direction. If she’s even started getting back any of her memories yet, that is, which is another thing that has Zayn worried.

“Jesus, what did I miss?” says a voice from out in the corridor. “Why’re everyone’s doors shut and the corridors all quie—oh, hey Zayn, didn’t know you were coming today.”

Zayn turns to find Six standing in Alec’s doorway which isn’t a surprise since his room’s right next door. Six smiles brightly at him and Zayn smiles back, and then Six is sauntering inside and plopping himself on the edge of Alec’s bed.

“What are we talking about? Ooh, or is this some sort secret Rank 15 only meeting?” he teases, voice lowering to a whisper because they may not have cared enough to pay attention to each other’s tattoos _before_ but they certainly do now and it’s kind of become a running joke.

Alec rolls his eyes. “Let it go already.”

“ _Never_ ,” Six says overdramatically. “Not until you all teach me the secret of your Rank 15 ways. In fact, I shouldn’t even be talking to you! Nay, I should be bowing before you!” He lays the back of his hand to his head and looks up at the ceiling as if he’s acting out a scene from a play. “Please, oh mighty Rank 15’s accept me, a humble Rank 12, as your servant and apprentice so that I may learn your mystical ways.” He bows his head then in mock surrender, hands pressed together in front of him as if in submission and Alec throws a pen at him.

“Do you see what I deal with,” he says to Zayn and Zayn snorts.

“Seriously though, what happened?” Six says, looking between them both, twirling the pen, that he’d of course caught in midair before it made contact, around his fingers.

“T4 had another tantrum,” Alec explains. “Tried to choke Brianne, Zayn had to call T3 out of therapy to come calm her down.”

Six sighs, turning to Zayn sadly. “Still nothing on her family?”

“Zip. What about you, though? You just came back from a visit, yeah? How’ve things been with _your_ family?”

“Good, yeah.” Six nods, smiling. “My parents are still a bit…weird. I don’t know, I think maybe they feel a bit…guilty or something, you know? For, like, not looking for me hard enough or something maybe? I don’t know, I feel like there’s something else going on, but whatever it is they clearly don’t want to talk about it so it’s whatever I guess. I mean, we didn’t exactly have the best relationship when I was taken so there’s that…and they’re not coping too well with all the things coming out with the trial. But my brother’s alright,” he says brightly. “We played a game of footie in the park around the corner and had fish and chips.”

Zayn shakes his head but he’s smiling. Six baffles him sometimes. Ever since the first tendrils of his personality had started to shine through he’s been like a little ray of light. A bubbly, smiling goofball that somehow manages to find the good in pretty much everything. Anyone else would have likely been a bit angry or at least sad over that kind of situation with their parents but Six somehow manages to make it sound like it was the best day, despite everything.

“And yet you came back empty-handed, leaving the rest of us to starve,” Alec gripes.

“How ‘bout you?” Zayn says, reaching out a foot to kick at Alec’s chair, ignoring his sarcastic complaints. “Things going alright with your mum?”

“Yeah,” he says shrugging like it’s no big deal, but clearly fighting a bashful smile. Alec’s a bit more like Zayn personality-wise. A bit snarky and sarcastic, a touch moody, but unlike Zayn he can also be mildly know-it-all-y at times. Suffice it to say he’s not normally one to blush or get embarrassed but he is now, though he’s trying to hide it. “She’s taking me to meet the ankle-biters next week.”

“Awww!” Six coos.

“Shut up, it’s not even a big deal.”

It is. Zayn knows it is even if Alec won’t admit it.

“Hey so, how are Nineteen and Eight?” Alec asks, clearly trying to change the subject to anything but him.

“Smooth,” Six says. Alec tosses another pen at him, which again he easily dodges.

Zayn chuckles, nodding. “They’re good. Eight’s a little behind you guys progress-wise cause she only just got re-connected with her family a couple weeks ago, but Nineteen’s doing really well. She asks about you guys all the time.”

He’s not telling them yet because he wants it to be a surprise but he’s working on trying to bring both girls over for a supervised visit, once Eight’s a bit further along in her recovery. He thinks it’d be really good for them all to see each other again. And if he’s honest there might a bit of selfish indulgence in it too, having his whole team back together if only for a short while, but no one has to know that.

*

“You’ve had the opportunity to hear what the recovery process is like firsthand but now I’d like to get into what actually goes on throughout this process on a more physical level,” Moira says, walking over to retrieve her clicker.

Zayn is finally, _finally_ off the stand and he sits next to Zara at the prosecution table watching as Moira presses a button on the clicker that brings the screen to life. One of their expert witnesses, Dr. Williams, is currently sat at the stand. She’s one of a team of psychiatrists who work in tandem with the Foundation at a number of their psych facilities. Dr. Williams in particular primarily works at the facility where Alec and the others are, but she and her colleagues also split their time between the other facilities where needed, for consultations and check-ins and things of that sort.

“If you’ll direct your attention to the screen once more,” Moira says to the jury, “I’d like to present Exhibit JJ*.” On the screen appears a side-by-side comparison of two different brain scans from an MRI. “Dr. Williams, could you explain the significance of these images to the jury?”

“Of course. These images are brain scans taken with an MRI. The image on the left is the brain of a young, relatively healthy individual. This is what most of our brains look like and what a healthy brain _should_ look like.”

“And what about this one on the right? It looks a bit different from the one on the left, there are all these areas that are blacked out. Surely that’s not normal?”

Dr. Williams shakes her head. “No, it isn’t. That’s because the image on the right is the MRI scan of the brain a former ‘operative,’ shortly after undergoing what was known in the program as the ‘Procedure.’”

“Is this something that you see often, doctor, working with former operatives on a daily basis?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“So then this is what most operatives’ brain scans look like?”

“The early ones, yes. Given the progression, or rather lack thereof shown in this scan I would estimate that it was taken probably no more than a few weeks after the victim’s last ‘Procedure.’ Those are the earliest we have on record. Evidently as much as the program Doctors liked to document their ‘experiments’ with the victims of the program, they didn’t appear to be interested in documenting this particular aspect of it so the oldest records we have for assessment of progress are scans from various hospitals taken during medical exams in the weeks following the raids, nothing earlier. But, as you can see, a good amount of the trauma caused is still very visible in scans like these.”

“Just for clarification when you say trauma you’re referring to the trauma caused by the effects of the Procedure, correct?”

“Yes. As you pointed out the areas in both the front and the center are darkened. This is because those are the areas most affected by the ‘procedure’ these victims were forced to undergo. Those areas represent the parts of the brain most responsible for processing both emotions and long-term memory, specifically what is called episodic memory. These are the memories that make up who we are, all of the major and minor events that happen throughout our lives are stored right there in that middle section of the brain,” Dr. Williams explains, pointing for emphasis. “With limited access to the medial temporal lobe and the prefrontal cortex you would still be able to form new procedural memories, like learning to fight or speak another language for example. Additionally you would still be able to recall basic motor skills like walking and talking and being able to recognize and identify familiar objects within your surroundings, but you wouldn’t be able to recollect when or where you first learned all those things or recall any specific memories associated with them.

Within the program, in order to achieve the goal they wanted—that is, wiping a person’s memory from a specific point in time while still allowing new memories to be made and stored—the doctors and scientists that were the minds behind the technology used for the Procedure managed to find a way to target these very specific areas of the brain and block the neurons and synapses at those points so that victims couldn’t access those parts of their brains, couldn’t access those memories or emotions, effectively cutting them off not only from the memories of everything and everyone they ever knew and loved but also from the ability to feel much of anything but trace amounts of fear.”

“Why is it that fear would be the only thing that managed to survive this process?” Moira asks.

“Well, fear is the strongest of all of our emotions and as a result is the hardest to control, something that proved true even in this extreme circumstance. Even after going through such a traumatic experience, victims would have still been able to feel trace amounts of fear, despite not being able to recognize it for what it was. The intense psychological conditioning they underwent would have left them largely unaware of it as they were conditioned to believe that, being something _less_ than human, they were incapable of experiencing any kind of emotion.

“Unfortunately though that belief paired with the lingering ability to still feel fear, even if only on a limited level, allowed for the utmost control. Because now you have an army that you can shape and mold completely to your bidding. You can tell them anything and they’ll believe it because they have absolutely nothing else to compare it to, no moral compass, nothing to guide them but you and what you say. Play into the bit of fear they _can_ feel with the threat of torture if they dare to question you or even think about disobeying, and then add into that a few enhancements to make them stronger, faster, more sharply-focused, more adept and highly-attuned than the average person, and you have the perfect soldier. Someone who’ll never question you, who’ll do anything you say without hesitation and with absolutely no limits, and who’ll carry out orders perfectly and precisely every time. It’s every military’s dream and they saw it through.”

Moira nods in thanks, turning back to the jury to speak.

“Now the defense will likely try to argue that because of all this they are a danger to themselves and to others because they don’t have that same inherent system of checks and balances that we have, nothing to help them understand right from wrong. They will likely argue that they could hurt someone and feel no guilt or remorse or sadness, and therefore there’s nothing to stop them from doing it again. But to that argument I would like to put forth Exhibit KK.”

She presses a button on the clicker again and the image up on the screen changes from one of two different brain scans to one of four, all presented side by side.

Zayn immediately recognizes his own on the right, flashes back to the day he’d gone with Liam to have them done. It had been a surreal kind of experience, walking into the same hospital he’d been turned away from all that time ago when he’d been looking for a Nurse to help shower and feed him. He’d been an anxious wreck the entire time even though outside of the scans it was mostly just routine check-up stuff, but the whole thing just reminded him too much of the bunker. The set-up of that hospital in particular, right down to the colors of the doors and walls was eerily similar, _too_ similar. And being led down corridors and in and out of exam rooms with impassive white-coated doctors hadn’t helped. But when he’d come back out into the waiting area Liam had greeted him with a little red lolly and a smile and everything had felt okay again.

“Now, these first two scans you’ve seen already,” Moira says. “What I want to direct your attention to now are the third and fourth scans, the ones farthest to your right. You may notice that the fourth one in particular looks very similar to the first one, the healthy one. That’s because it _is_ similar, but it wasn’t always. Dr. Williams can you tell us a little bit about we’re seeing in these last two scans?”

Dr. Williams nods. “Both the third and fourth scans are the brains of former operatives now in recovery, from the progression of the third I would estimate that the scan was taken approximately a year and a half after their last Procedure. With the fourth I’m unsure, as their progression seems to be further along than any of the operatives I’ve seen in my work thus far. But I _can_ say that it’s clearly been at least more than two years since their last Procedure, as that’s the farthest along that I have personal experience with.”

“And how do these scans compare to the first two?”

“Well, first off, you’ll notice that parts of those areas that are blacked out on the second scan appear lighter in the third scan, the same color as the rest of the brain. What that means is those areas of the brain that were previously inactive are now becoming active again. The neurons and synapses are starting to heal and rebuild all of those connections that were previously broken or blocked off. This is because of what’s referred to in the medical field as ‘plasticity,’ the brain’s natural ability to adapt, to remold itself to one’s needs much like how you would mold plastic, and that includes taking measures to protect itself or heal itself in the aftermath of trauma.

“Children’s brains have a higher capacity for plasticity than most adult brains, which is likely why those behind the program chose to focus their experiments on children, as they were more likely to have a higher survival rate than adults would. In addition to that though, one of the added bonuses of the effects of the serums operatives were dosed with during the Integration Process, among many other enhancements, was a heightened healing ability. That is to say, their cells regenerate at a faster level than the average person, allowing them to not only sustain more severe injury and physical trauma but also to recover much faster than any of us would, and even to recover from things that most of us might not survive or might not ever fully recover from.

“This is precisely why the procedure had to be repeated so often. After around a year to two year’s time most of the victims began to show signs of the effects wearing off. Doctors’ notes recovered from the bases in the raids make it clear that they were constantly experimenting with serums and voltage trying to find a way to make the effects more permanent or to at least last longer than they did, but as you can see they weren’t very successful. Their many attempts were hindered not only by the brain’s natural and rather remarkable capacity to repair itself but also by the enhancements the Doctors themselves equipped these children with.

“Their ability to heal at an exponential rate, about three times faster than the average person to be exact, also means their brains heal at a much faster rate than ours. Were one of _us_ to experience this kind of repeated neural trauma, there’s a good chance that we would likely never fully recover or that even if we did, it would take several years or more to reach the point of recovery that the individual in the third scan reached in under two years. And our chances of ever reaching the point of recovery that the individual in the fourth scan has reached would be slim to none.

“Now when we look back at the third scan obviously you can see that there are still some parts that are blacked out. However, the theory is that overtime they will continue to fill in and become active again as well just like the rest of the brain. A theory that I believe is proved by the fourth scan that’s been presented which shows tremendous progress. Almost all of the areas where you would normally see evidence of inactivity—that is to say dark spots like those seen in the second scan—are now active. To the untrained eye it may even appear exactly identical to the first scan, the healthy scan. While there are still very minute areas of inactivity though, based on the rate of progression, I would say that within anywhere from another six to twelve months even those areas of inactivity will be completely active again,” Dr. Williams finishes.

“For the record I would like to make it known that the fourth scan belongs to Mr. Malik, who as you all know has been in recovery for just under three years now,” Moira says to the jury before turning back to the doctor. “Are you saying then, Dr. Williams, that based on what you see from Mr. Malik’s scan it’s possible for these victims to be able to make a full recovery and become functional members of society again?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I would even say that it’s not just possible, but inevitable. With the proper care now in place for them and with the progress that I’ve witnessed in just the past six months that I’ve been working with them there’s no doubt in my mind that most, if not all of them, will be able to make a full recovery within the next few years and, if allowed to, successfully reintegrate into society.”

Moira turns to the judge, hands clasped behind her back in a self-satisfied stance. “No further questions at this time, Your Honor.” And then to Reynolds as she walks past to re-take her seat at the prosecution table, “Your witness.”

Reynolds stands, straightening his suit jacket and sauntering up to Dr. Williams, pacing back in forth in front of the stand a few moments, probably for dramatic effect more than anything, before finally speaking.

“You stated, doctor, that you’ve only been working with the operatives for six months. In your time with them have you had a chance to examine every single one?”

“No, not personally. But my team of colleagues and I regularly confer on our experiences and findings.”

“Mmm. Six months seems like a pretty short amount of time to make as bold a determination as you have though, especially one that could potentially affect the entire country. How can we be sure that every single operative will follow the trajectory of progress you and your colleagues have mapped out? Isn’t it possible that not all of them will progress as Mr. Malik has?”

“It’s possible, but highly unlikely.”

“Highly unlikely,” Reynolds repeats, nodding. “Based on what you’ve seen, doctor, whether in footage played over the duration of the trial so far or in personal encounters with operatives, would you agree that one operative can cause a fair amount of damage?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“So, then, even in the ‘highly unlikely’ event that just a few of the operatives, out of the hundreds currently under you and your colleagues’ care, failed to progress according to your proposed trajectory, would it be fair to say that they could cause quite a bit of harm to the greater community?”

“It’s possible, but—”

“Yes or no please, Dr. Williams.”

She hesitates, letting out a frustrated breath but answers anyway, resigned. “Yes.”

Reynolds nods. “Now throughout your testimony you talked quite a bit about trauma and how the brain can be unpredictable. Would you say that unpredictability can sometimes apply to memories?”

“Sometimes.”

“And would you agree that prolonged trauma can also adversely affect the ability to properly recall memories?”

“Yes.”

“What about in relation to PTSD? It’s my understanding that PTSD victims sometimes get confused, especially when it comes to recalling memories, isn’t that true?”

“To some degree. Though the—” Dr. Williams tries to explain further but Reynolds cuts her off before she can.

“Is it possible then for someone, especially someone who’s still in the healing process, to misremember or confuse certain things they might think they recall?”

“In some instances.”

“And can that confusion also apply to people?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“As in, might it be possible for someone who has experienced a great deal of trauma, especially neural trauma, to mistake a person from their memories for someone else?” Reynolds explains.

“That’s—”

“Yes or no, Dr. Williams.”

Dr. Williams get a pinched look on her face, clearly wanting to argue but unable to. After a long pause she finally says, “Yes.”

“So then, in your professional opinion, might it be possible that my clients—many of whom were seen or heard regularly on television and the news during Mr. Malik’s early stages of recovery—could have simply been mistaken for the perpetrators Mr. Malik recalls? That perhaps he saw their faces and confused or conflated them with the real perpetrators responsible for what he endured who deserve to be brought to justice?”

Dr. Williams doesn’t answer. She’s silent for so long that Reynolds eventually turns to the judge who says, “Answer the question please, Dr. Williams.”

With that same pinched look on her face she says tightly. “It’s _possible_ , yes, but—”

“Thank you, doctor, that’ll be all. No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

“Permission to re-direct, Your Honor?” Moira says, immediately rising from her seat.

He nods.

“Dr. Williams, how long have you worked with PTSD victims?” Moira says once she’s made her way back to her usual spot a few paces away from the witness stand.

“Twenty-three years.”

“Would you say that treating the operative victims has been a starkly different experience than treating regular PTSD victims?”

“Not altogether, no. Outside of the issue of re-learning basic social skills I would say it’s actually very similar. They display much of the same symptoms and generally appear to follow the same recovery patterns, though again on a heightened scale.”

“So then is it fair to say that even though you’ve only been treating the operatives for six months you have a marginally good idea of what the signs of a successful recovery should look like, given the fact that you’re seeing many of the same things you’ve seen and studied for the past twenty-three years?”

“Yes.”

“Now, Reynolds brought up an interesting point about PTSD victims and their memories. But he also left out a few important details, as well, isn’t that true?”

“Yes. Though it’s true that PTSD victims can sometimes confuse things, the issue tends not be with the events of the memory itself but with separating the memory from the current reality. On the contrary from what Mr. Reynolds appeared to be suggesting, for PTSD victims memories are, more often than not, the things that are most clear to them, even more so than reality sometimes. And when you add to that the fact that memories in general tend to be more lasting and remembered with more clarity when tied to heightened emotional responses like fear, on top of the enhancements operatives were given—the side effects of one of which causes heightened activity in the parietal lobe allowing for sharper and more accurate memory recall akin to that of an eidetic or photographic memory—what he’s suggesting becomes even more unfathomable.”

“So you’re saying that the idea that Mr. Malik, or any of the operatives for that matter, might have confused people they happened to see on television with their former abusers and therefore falsely accused them of the crimes they’re on trial for, as Reynolds appears to be suggesting, is nothing more than pure conjecture?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Dr. Williams. No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

“Would the defense like to re-cross?” the judge asks.

Reynolds and the other lawyers confer briefly at their table before one of the others answers, “No, Your Honor.”

“Alright, thank you for your testimony, Dr. Williams. You may step down now.” He nods his head to her in thanks and waits for her to leave the stand before he lifts his gavel and gives one hard rap against the block. “The court is now in recess. We will commence again tomorrow morning at 8am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *for labels of evidence using the alphabet exhibits shall be marked in alphabetical order commencing with the letter A. After every letter of the alphabet has been used once, then labels shall begin with AA, BB, etc., followed by AAA, BBB, etc.
> 
> also sorry if the change/recovery in the other operatives seems a bit too abrupt, i know it’s only been like two chapters for you guys since you last saw them but for them (in the storyline) it’s been like five months (around four of which we skipped through over the duration of chapter 24), and as much as i would have liked to have worked in another kind of in-between scene with them before they got to this point, with all that was going on these last couple chapters there just didn’t seem to be a good time for it…anyway something to think about putting another outtakes scene though i guess…
> 
> also also, adding another song to the [bonus playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/12101105796/playlist/13rgXffY8L8EXplTIgeV2Y?si=bSQ5N4kgSPa4Gk2XYPMnow), dear world by echosmith, which i feel like embodies so perfectly how zayn feels about the other operatives/what he would say to all of them if he could (and also some parts i feel like could even be applied to liam and how he feels about zayn/what zayn and the others had to go through). anyway it’s a great song either way and even if you don’t listen to it in the playlist if you haven’t already heard the song I would say definitely give it a listen :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait guys, I just needed to take a step back and take a bit of a break from this fic because it was starting stress me out trying to keep up with the weekly update schedule and everything. That said, updates are probably gonna be coming a bit slower/more infrequent/not as consistently for a little while, they'll still be coming on Fridays just probably not every Friday but regardless of how long might pass between updates just know that I'm definitely not abandoning this fic and for those of you still here and commenting I wanna thank you all for sticking with me through all the ups and downs of this whole shitshow, you all truly are gems, each and every one of you ;)
> 
> **also for anyone who's not already aware i ended up going back and cutting a couple scenes from ch. 25 and 26, hoping the cuts help it flow better and hopefully make this part of the fic as a whole seem a little less redundant and boring :)**
> 
> **to those who might be seeing this after the cuts have been made: if you’re interested you can check out some of the cut scenes from the trial in[chapter 5 of the outtakes fic :)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026617/chapters/34806737)**

The morning before what will hopefully be Zayn’s last day on the stand—if the defense doesn’t decide to pile a bunch more questions on him at the last minute—Liam wakes to Zayn mumbling in something that sounds like it might be Russian.

“Skazhite mne kto nanyal vas.”

“Mmmpf…what?” Liam says groggily, glancing up at the alarm clock that reads 5:02AM before rolling over to face Zayn.

“Skazhite mne kto nanyal vas. Skazhite mne kto nanyal vas,” he repeats.

His eyes are half open but he’s looking past Liam like he can’t even see him.

“Hey…Zayn, hey, come on, come back to me,” Liam says gently, scooting closer, smoothing a comforting hand over Zayn’s shoulder.

“Skazhite mne kto nanyal vas. Skazhite mne kto nanyal vas ili vy umirayete.”

“Zayn…Zayn, hey,” Liam tries again, hands curling around his jaw, trying to get Zayn to _see_ him. Zayn suddenly blinks and Liam watches as the focus comes back to his eyes and he looks up at Liam confusion.

“Shit, sorry, what was I doing?”

“Threatening me? I think?”

“I did? What did I say?”

“I don’t know,” Liam shakes his head. “Something in Russian I think? It sounded like…skazitemyet konanye vas?”

“Probably skazhite mne kto nanyal vas,” Zayn corrects.

“Gesundheit.”

Zayn snorts. “Wrong language, Einstein.”

“Whatever. What does it mean?”

“Gesundheit?” Zayn asks teasingly.

“Yes, gesundheit.” Liam rolls his eyes. “No, the Russian thing, arsehole.”

“Roughly? Tell me who hired you.”

“Oh. Not really a threat then,” Liam squints, “it just sounded like one I guess.”

“Everything in Russian sounds like a threat,” Zayn quips.

“Yeah, fair enough,” Liam concedes. “There was another part too though…something like…ilivum…meeryta?”

“And _there_ it is,” Zayn says, giving a sharp nod.

“What?”

“The threat. Ili vy umirayete. ‘Or you die.’”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Zayn sighs, burying his face in Liam’s neck. “What time is it?”

“Five.”

Zayn groans in exasperation. “AKA no point in going back to sleep o’clock.”

Liam chuckles. “Not true,” he counters. “Technically you could still manage like a solid hour and a half of sleep.”

Zayn pulls back to level him with a sardonic glare. “You really think that’s happening right now?”

“It _could_.”

Zayn rolls his eyes but tucks his face back into Liam’s neck.

He doesn’t sleep and neither does Liam but there’s a comfortable kind of silence between them, the two of them just lying there wrapped around each other until the alarm clock goes off.

*

Days later when the defense’s questioning inevitably has dragged out longer than they’d hoped and they’ve played yet more unnecessary footage of the operatives in action Liam wakes yet again except this time it’s to find Zayn already awake, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Hey, you okay?” Liam says scooting in close to wrap an arm around Zayn’s middle.

“Yeah.” Zayn nods, turning and curling up a little to snuggle into Liam. “Just…more bad dreams. Memories,” he amends. “It’s just…the stuff they keep showing, I don’t know, it’s starting to get to me I guess…bringing up all the shit I don’t want to remember.”

Liam nods, pressing his lips to Zayn’s temple. “What can I do?”

“Keep talking?” Zayn says, a hopeful lilt to his voice like he’s afraid Liam will say no. As if that was ever even a possibility that would cross Liam’s mind.

“’Course,” Liam says, launching into a story about a time back in uni when Louis somehow managed to talk them all into crashing a random bachelor party.

*

Liam’s standing outside the courthouse waiting for Zayn to finish talking with Moira so they can go meet up with the others for a sort of late lunch/early dinner when he hears a woman call his name from somewhere behind him.

“Liam Payne?”

He turns and is momentarily shocked when he sees who the woman is that’s walking towards him. She’s older than he remembers, lines around her eyes and hair starting to prematurely gray at the edges even though he’s fairly sure she’s no more than midway through her thirties. But he supposes time and stress will do that to a person.

“I’m not sure if you remember me after all these years and with how I look now,” she starts once she’s close enough to speak at a more comfortable volume, “but my name is Ava Pearson, I was one of the detective constables* that worked on Zayn’s case when he first went missing.”

“I remember.” Liam nods, keeping his response curt, not sure what to expect or where this might be going.

Her eyes look sad, apologetic as she looks back at him. “I was hoping I might run into you here, though I was also hoping Zayn might be with you when I did so I’d get a chance to say this to him personally too, but…I just wanted you both to know how sorry I am that things went the way they did in the investigation all those years ago. That case has haunted me everyday since and the way the department handled it was just awful. We put you and your family, and Zayn’s family especially, through hell and the local news outlets only made it all worse.

“I think a lot of the cops in the department, including most of the others on the case, let their own judgment and personal biases get in the way and the media coverage only helped fuel how they already felt about it all to begin with. Most of them wanted to close the case almost as soon as it started but I felt in my gut even then that something wasn’t right and me and a couple others pushed to keep it open as long as we could, but ultimately it wasn’t up to us. It’s the same way it is with most thing I guess. Old Boy’s Club, you know? The ones in charge were convinced it was an open and shut case and they weren’t interested in hearing the arguments of a couple of young rookies who’d barely been there long enough to even get their hands dirty, especially a female one at that. The way they saw it keeping the case open as long as we had was already nothing but a waste of valuable police resources that could’ve been put to use elsewhere on ‘more important’ cases and keeping it open any longer would have only been even more of a waste.

Sometimes I wonder though, had they given us more of a chance, if maybe we could’ve stopped all this before it got so bad. If we had caught them earlier maybe Zayn and all of those other kids could’ve had a life like they were supposed to instead of being damn near put on trial themselves for someone else’s crimes.” Ava sighs, stares out across the steps for a moment before turning back to him. “Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. On behalf of myself and on behalf of the department especially. Which, despite how it might’ve seemed, isn’t _all_ bad and is actually finally changing for the better with some of the old tyrants retiring. But I’m just sorry we didn’t fight harder to get justice for Zayn when it truly mattered. And I hope that with this trial Zayn and the others can finally get the justice and peace they so rightly deserve.”

“Thank you. That…that really means a lot,” Liam says sincerely. “I appreciate that you tried, back then I mean, to fight for him. I, um…I spent a long time angry…feeling like no one cared but me and our families, but…knowing that you tried, that you were fighting for him even when no one else wanted to listen…it really means a lot. And I’m sure it will to him too. Thank you.”

Ava gives a wistful smile before saying her goodbyes and heading back down the courthouse steps.

Zayn is at his side moments later, watching Ava walk down the stairs and up the block.

“I take it you heard all of that?” Liam says.

Zayn shrugs. “Not all, but enough. And it does.”

“Does what?”

“Mean a lot to me, too.” Zayn flashes him a small smile and Liam can’t help smiling back.

“Come on then, let’s get out of here.”

“Gladly.”

*

When Friday rolls around Louis comes sauntering in, immediately drapes himself right across the couch and flips the channel on the telly like he lives there.

“Um, excuse you,” Liam says, snatching the remote out of Louis’ hand and flipping the channel back to the news, not even really because they were watching it—they weren’t, it was mostly sitting on as background noise as per usual these days—but really just out of spite.

“Come _on_ ,” Louis complains. “I’m sick of the news and their bullshit. All they talk about is the trial and not even the parts they _should_ be talking about. I mean the prosecution spent _days_ going over all the private e-mails and financial records connecting the arseholes to their crimes that it took _me_ blood, sweat, and tears to pry off their servers. But do they talk about that? _No_. Everything’s about the fucking defense witnesses and they’re all a joke. I mean, Jesus Christ, if I have to listen to one more goddamn ‘close friend’ or ‘relative’ of those sick arseholes crying and moaning on the stand about how the person they know would ‘never be involved in something like this’ and how they’re being ‘wrongfully accused’ I’m going to literally stab myself in the eardrums with a spoon. It’s bad enough hearing it in court I don’t want to listen to it on the news too, especially not on my night off.”

“Not your telly, not your choice,” Zayn says, walking over from the kitchen with Harry, a beer in each of their hands, and smacking Louis’ legs off the couch so they can sit. “It may be shit, but it’s the only thing we’ve got to see how the rest of the public feels about all this, so either suck it up or go home.”

There’s a knock on the door and Liam moves to answer it.

“It’s only on for another ten minutes anyway,” Liam calls over his shoulder as he lets Niall and Sarah in. “Once this segment ends we can watch whatever you want.”

“For the love of God, don’t leave it up to him,” Harry groans, “he’ll have us all watching Grease for the millionth time and listening to all night long recounts of that _one time_ he played Danny Zuko in his year ten play.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Niall says, following Sarah in, the two of them squeezing into the recliner together.

Louis sniffs haughtily, arms crossed. “Clearly I need to find some new friends who can actually recognize and appreciate a quality story and piece of cinema when it bites them in the arse.” He pauses, scrunching up his brows and wiggling in his seat. “Speaking of things biting people in the arse, is this couch just happy to see me or is a spring broken cause _something_ won’t stop poking _me_ in the arse.” He whips around, digging underneath the couch cushions until he eventually barks out a satisfied, “Aha!”

Except that when he pulls his hand free, holding up his find, Liam nearly chokes on his own saliva when he sees what it is.

The handcuffs.

Louis raises an eyebrow at him. “ _Well_. And here I was thinking you were Mr. Vanilla.”

Liam meets eyes with Zayn on the couch next to Louis and he can already see that Zayn’s gearing up to say something snarky in response but Liam interrupts him before he can get more than two words out.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Liam says sternly in warning and Zayn snaps his mouth shut obediently. Maybe a little _too_ obediently.

Louis blinks, looking from Liam to Zayn to the handcuffs and then back to Liam. “What the hell was _that_?” And then a beat later, “You know what, never mind. I just realized I don’t actually wanna know what kind of kinky shit you all get up to.” He shoves the handcuffs at Liam, holding them with only two fingers and a thumb like they’re contagious.

No one else comments, thank God. Though Sarah’s discreetly smirking into Niall’s shoulder as Liam turns to go put them away. It’s thankfully the most eventful occurrence of the night but Liam’s still a bit mortified that it happened at all. Though he supposes it could have been worse. At least it wasn’t the vibrator.

*

Liam doesn’t frequent the psych facilities all that often. Mostly only for the cases that he handles personally, whatever’s leftover that the rest of his team can’t get to or the more delicate cases that he prefers to handle himself. Today he just so happens to be facilitating a re-acquaintance meeting for an operative and their family at the same facility where most of Zayn’s former team is.

Once the meeting’s over he figures he might as well pop by and check in with Alec and the others but when he gets to their wing he finds all of their rooms empty, doors left wide open like most of the operatives are wont to do. It’s funny, you’d think after so long spent with virtually no privacy they’d be all too eager to finally have it back, but for most of them, Zayn included, it’s the complete opposite. Liam’s quickly come to learn that so many of the things he’d thought of before as just a Zayn thing are actually more of an operative thing. Stuff like oversharing and that characteristic bluntness, asking inappropriate or uncomfortable questions, and not having any qualms about nudity or decency, even changing with the doors wide open or walking in on each other in the bathroom. Part habit, part indifference he supposes, things like privacy and decency probably feeling like nothing more than trivial concepts to them in the grand scheme of things.

Finding their rooms empty he resigns to just heading home, figuring they must all be busy with other activities. But as he’s walking down one of the corridors past the rec room on his way out he hears someone call his name.

“Liam!”

He turns in surprise to find Alec leaning out of the doorway of the rec room, waving to him.

“Hey!” Liam calls, walking back up the corridor to him. He follows Alec inside and finds Six, T3 and T4—as they prefer to be called by everyone but each other for now—and a few other operatives all inside, some of them playing games, others just standing or sitting around talking and laughing. There’s even music playing from a little set of speakers in the corner hooked up to what must be one of the nurse’s phones. “This the new hang out spot, then?”

Alec shrugs. “Pretty much. Telly’s cool but there’s only so many channels here. Pretty sure we’ve all seen every E4 show in existence twice over at this point.”

Liam huffs a laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s government funding for you. It’s got its limits and unfortunately that includes cable.”

“Yeah,” Alec says with a smirk and a snort. “Speaking of the government, how’s the trial going?”

“It’s going,” Liam says with a shrug. “The worst part’s over at least though with Zayn finally off the stand so there’s that.”

“Yeah, I heard. Arseholes on the news hardly had anything good to say when he was _on_ the stand but now that he’s off they can’t seem to stop talking about what all the defense witnesses have to say, like _Zayn’s_ the one that’s been lying through his teeth this whole time instead of them. I hate how much they’re always shitting on him.”

“You and me both.”

“Heyyyy, so, uh, hate to break it to you,” Six says, sidling over, “but you guys are _killing_ the rec room vibe. Like seriously just murdering it. Flat lining. Ascending to the afterlife. Like it’s deader than dead. Seriously. Like stick a fork in it—”

“ _Okay_. We get it, _thank you_. Conversation over,” Alec says with a roll of his eyes.

“Great, good talk, guys, and remember happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Cause you know we can all hear you.” Six dips away with an overly bright smile.

“Yeah. Got it. Thanks,” Alec says with another roll of his eyes. Liam tries to keep himself from laughing but can’t stop himself from cracking a smile.

“Happy thoughts,” he repeats, still smiling. “So, um…how’re things with your mum, then?”

“Really good actually.” Alec says with a nod, finally cracking a smile of his own. “She’s been pretty amazing about all this honestly. I wasn’t—I mean, from what I remember of her, you know, I wasn’t sure, like, what to expect but…I don’t know, it’s like she’s different, but the same…kinda like—like me, I guess? Like, she still smells the same, she still talks the same, but…she’s better too, you know? I mean, she’s clean, got herself into rehab a little bit after I got taken and stayed clean ever since, and she’s saving up to start her own hair salon. She’s got this house and I’ve only been once but it’s amazing and her husband, my step-dad I guess, he’s really great, and it’s weird think I have a step-dad now but, like, he’s really cool? And the little ones, I mean, they’re terrible but amazing at the same time, does that make sense? It’s just, it’s all so crazy, but in a good way, you know?”

“I do.” Liam smiles.

Looking around the room at all of them he feels so proud he could burst. This is the life they should have had. The life they _get_ to have now. Playing games, smiling, laughing, joking, _living_. All the things they never had the chance to do that now they get to and for a moment he could almost imagine this is a uni rec room instead of a psychiatric facility rec room. Can imagine them chatting about courses and exams and the next big party and who’s dating who and _Zayn_ did that. _He_ got them all here. And he’s risking his own freedom to make sure they can keep theirs, keep all of this. Liam hopes they all can. _God_ , he hopes they can.

*

“Is this really it?” Liam says from his place at the end of the bed, watching Zayn button up his shirt and pull on a tie in for the umpteenth time for what’s hopefully the last day of defense witness testimonies.

Zayn nods, adjusting the knot of his tie and pulling his hair back into a neat bun at the nape of his neck. “Moira and Zara think so at least.”

Liam pulls his own shirt over his shoulders, still unbuttoned, and stands, moving to wrap arms around Zayn’s waist. “So tomorrow really could be the last day of all this?”

Zayn smiles, nods again, leaning his forehead to Liam’s. “Of the trial anyway.” Liam hums in answer. He knows they’ll still have to wait around through jury deliberations after, which could take days, and then go back to hear the verdict of course. But after today, if all goes as planned anyway, the worst of it’ll be over. “You know, as long as the defense doesn’t decide to pull some shit outta their arse last minute to try and draw this out any longer,” Zayn adds.

“Shh, don’t put it into the universe, I’m 182% sure it already has it out for us,” Liam says with a smile, pressing a quick kiss to Zayn’s lips to make a point of shutting him up.

Zayn laughs. “You think so, huh?” He leans in to kiss Liam back, and, still smiling says, “Yeah, you might be right. Better not tempt fate anymore than we already have, come on, let’s get going.”

*

Except that what had been meant as just a joke turns out to be all too real. Because after a few hours of more witnesses droning on with the same damn excuses everyone’s heard for weeks—right when Liam starts to think it’s really going to be over—the defense calls a surprise witness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *why does the uk have so many different levels of detectives wtf, there’s like six different levels of detectives and my poor little u.s. brain (that generally only has to worry about the difference between regular police or detectives and that’s it) is over here confused af doing verbal calculus trying to make sure i use the right detective rank names smh
> 
> also sorry for any bad russian…outside of like three basic words (da, spasibo, and prochnost) I know diddly squat about russian and so had to resort to using google translator which is often shitty at best when it comes to any kind of proper translation that’s more than like one or two words long, but feel free to leave any corrections in the comments if you want/if they’re needed and i’ll fix it lol


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a couple days earlier than usual (and doing a double post!) in honor of Liam's 25th birthday! :)
> 
> (fyi there’s a paragraph at the beginning of this chapter that may seem repetitive to those who read chapter 25 before i made the scene cuts i did for that chapter, sorry to those who’ve already seen it i just felt it was really important to include and i really wanted to find a way to re-work it somewhere else if i could especially for those who didn’t get a chance to see it before it got cut)

_Zayn_

Zayn’s antsy as they arrive for the last day of defense witness testimony. It feels like it’s taken _ages_ to get here and he almost can’t believe that it’s finally coming to a close. That after today it’ll just be a waiting game, just a little longer until the verdict is reached and then it’ll all really, _finally_ be over. Zara and Moira are fairly confident that the verdict will swing their way. Despite some of the jury’s qualms about Zayn and the other operatives, they seemed thoroughly appalled at all the footage and vivid descriptions of what went on in the program facilities. The hope is that they deem Zayn’s testimony and the paper trail evidence connecting most of the defendants (as many as they could) to the program sufficient enough to bring charges against them.

And his reasons for wanting them sentenced may be double-pronged. Because besides just wanting them to pay for all they’ve done, they’re also pretty much the only ones left who can still bring charges against them. The only ones who know for certain which operatives did what and could testify to it, outside of the few remaining Handlers left in hiding who are surely smart enough not to risk their own safety by coming forward. But he also knows firsthand what they’re capable of, knows there’s no limit to their will and determination to keep their fucked up experiments going. Knows without a doubt that if they’re let off none of this will stop them from doing it all again somewhere else, and he _won’t_ let them do it again. Not if he can help it.

So he’s antsy. Can’t shake the feeling all day—despite it going no different really than almost every day for weeks past—that something else is coming because he _knows_ them. They’ve always got a wild card up their sleeve and their desperation over turning the tides of this trial back in their favor only makes that even more likely. When hour after hour passes though and nothing comes—nothing out of the ordinary anyway—and the usual time they end for the day is upon them, Zayn starts to let his guard down.

Except of course— _of course_ —that’s the exact moment that the other shoe finally drops.

“Would the defense like to call any other witnesses?” the judge says and Zayn waits for inevitable ‘ _No, Your Honor_.’ But of course it doesn’t come.

He’s not all that surprised at first. He’d known there’d been other witnesses on the defense’s official witness list that hadn’t been called up, either because their testimony turned out not to be necessary after all or would be too repetitive when added to all the others. Moira and Zara had assured him it was quite normal not to call up every single witness on the initial list, as lawyers often listed more than might be essential to make sure all their bases were covered. The witness who’d testified earlier today had been last on the list and Zara and Moira had been quite hopeful the defense wouldn’t be going back to call on anyone else they’d skipped over earlier.

That hope, it turns out, was sadly misplaced because in answer to the judge’s inquiry Reynolds smiles and says, “Yes, Your Honor. The defense would like to call Dr. Steven Rameski to the stand.”

The name isn’t at all familiar to him. Zayn’s first assumption is that it must be another of the defense’s “expert witnesses,” some other doctor, probably paid off like all the other “experts” that have testified so far, just to further slander Zayn and Dr. Williams. He’s not worried about it.

Until he hears the unmistakable rattle of chains on the other side of the door that is.

Handcuffs.

Which means a prisoner.

And the only prisoners the defense would have reason to call up are the ones from the program who’ve already been arrested.

Zayn’s stomach sinks when he hears the familiar footfalls. The unmistakable drag of feet that even weighed down with chains still sounds the same, has the same pattern to it. Almost a shuffle, the result of severely flat feet, only made worse by a job that required long hours of standing. It’s a sound that still tortures him in his sleep, that drag, because what usually followed shortly after only meant endless hours of excruciating pain.

The scar on Zayn’s chest, just to the left of his sternum, burns with the phantom pain of salt sewn inside at the sound and Zayn presses a hand to it until it fades again. Thinks of Liam and his family and friends sitting only a few feet behind him, tries his best to tether himself to the here and now, reminding himself that the man who caused that scar now walks toward him in chains, in a prison uniform instead of a lab coat, and with any luck won’t ever see the light of day as a free man again.

Zayn doesn’t turn to look at him, doesn’t need to. Instead he waits as the man comes to a stop shortly behind their table to be uncuffed by the officers that escorted him here and then is shuffled past Zayn and led over to the stand. And promptly lies through his teeth for hours straight.

Up to now Zayn’s done a pretty good job of actually paying attention and listening to most of the witnesses if nothing else than just to hear what they have to say and gage the jury’s reactions to their claims. But after barely five minutes of the Doctor’s testimony Zayn can’t even force himself to listen any further and tunes him out, going to that place in his head he always used to go when he couldn’t stand to be in the present anymore. He blinks away the images and sounds and smells trying to force their way to the surface; scalpels and knives and needles and whirring machines, operating tables and leather straps, surgical masks and white lab coats and the smell of bleach and other unnamed chemicals. He feels ill but he ignores it. Forces his mind to go blank, everything else around him going dull and blurry. He doesn’t need to hear what’s being said to know that their whole case is being fucked. Even through the white noise though he still manages catches bits and pieces, enough to get the gist of the shit the Doctor’s spewing.

That Zayn and the others are all killers, ruthless liars, master manipulators. That they’re highly adept at psychological warfare and violence. That it’s the only language they speak and the only thing they know, and they’ll use it however they have to, to get their way. That there’s not an ounce of human decency in them and anything that seems like it is, is just more manipulation. That they don’t care who they hurt and that they’ve manipulated everyone around them including Dr. Williams and any other doctors or staff currently caring for them, along with the lawyers, the jury, even their own friends and family. That this whole trial is a farce and a testament to their skills of manipulation. And of course that he’s never seen or met any of the accused in his time with the program, can testify that they were never involved with it and therefore can’t be guilty of any of the crimes they’re being accused of.

And it shouldn’t get to Zayn as much as it does. It _shouldn’t_. Because objectively it’s not altogether all that different from what most of the other defense witnesses have said, the so-called experts and the friends and family of the defendants. But _this_. This holds more weight. And not just for Zayn personally because of who’s saying it all, but because the Doctor _knows_ them, worked with them for years, knows how Zayn and the others operate and exactly what they’re capable of. Or at least that’s how the jury will see it. Never mind that none of it’s true. Out of everyone else in this trial, besides Zayn himself, the Doctor knows the operatives best. Him corroborating everything the defense has argued so far—especially now of all times, when it’ll be fresh in the jury’s minds for deliberation—only throws into question the prosecution’s whole case. No doubt he’s been promised something for his efforts, shorter jail time or the possibility of parole, maybe even just the chance to come here and fuck Zayn and the other operatives over one last time. But the jury doesn’t know that of course. From their perspective, with him already being a prisoner with nothing to gain from this, he’s got no reason to lie. And if they start thinking _now_ that the prosecution’s whole case has been nothing more than an elaborate scheme meant to play on their emotions and sway them in favor of the wrong side then there’s no coming back for Zayn’s team and this whole trial might as well already be over.

*

“We’re fucked,” Zayn says, running fingers through his sweat-damp hair in the middle of the living room, barely ten minutes after he’s puked the entire contents of his breakfast into the toilet. He’d come home a sweaty, anxious mess, clothes soaked through and still half out of it as he’d stumbled with Liam through the door of their flat. He’s completely clear now though and everything that happened over the course of the last few hours is hitting him like a train.

“You don’t know that,” Liam counters, eyes following Zayn as he paces back and forth across the carpet.

“People don’t like being manipulated, Liam. Things were already contentious enough with how the jury felt about us, if they think our whole case has been based on nothing but lies and manipulation they’ll be all too eager to throw all our evidence right out the window and let the arseholes walk.”

“ _Or_ they’ll actually think about everything you guys have presented and realize that everything that punter said today was really about himself and that there’s more than enough evidence connecting the other arseholes to their crimes and showing them for the scumbags they really are.”

Zayn stops in his pace to stare at Liam with raised eyebrows. “I think you’re giving the jury way too much credit.”

“ _I_ think you’re not giving them enough.”

Zayn’s too tired to argue the point further. He huffs, coming over to drop heavily onto the couch next to Liam, arms crossed. “I just want this to be fucking over,” he says miserably, palms pushing at his eyes.

“I know. Me too,” Liam says with a soft sigh of his own, pulling Zayn down into a cuddle across the cushions. “It will be soon, yeah?”

“Not fucking soon enough.”

*

Zayn can’t sleep. He tosses and turns, drifting into brief bouts of unconsciousness every now and then but even his dreams are fitful, alternating between tortured memories of sessions with the Doctor and premonitions of Ellis and the others after the verdict has been ruled. Their smiling faces in a press conference as they thank the good people of the country for sticking with them through all the libelous slander and for allowing justice to prevail. Their joyful laughs and hugs with their friends and family. Inevitably things take a darker turn, Zayn’s sleep-addled mind conjuring up images of him and the other operatives being ripped from their loved ones or from the facilities by TAC Team Agents, thrown into cells, or worse, back into the bunkers, wiped all over again. When he wakes it’s in a cold sweat and Liam jolts up with him.

Zayn’s shaking, doesn’t even realize it until he registers Liam’s arms wrapped around him, rubbing soothing circles into his skin trying to calm him down.

“I know,” he says softly against Zayn’s temple. “I know. I know. It’s almost over, yeah? Just one more one day. Just one more day and then we wait.”

Zayn nods. One more day. One more day and then they wait. Except the waiting might just be the hardest part.

*

Running on practically no sleep—because neither of them had been able to go back to sleep after waking the way they did anyway—they get dressed in silence for the final day of trial.

Zayn doesn’t know whether to be happy that the trial is finally over or anxious over what might lie ahead of them.

While everything has been laid out plain for the jury and everyone to see there’s still so much doubt over how much of it will even be accepted. After what they heard all day yesterday even the ones who might have been starting to grow sympathetic towards him could very well decide to do a complete one-eighty now.

And it’s not even so much what’s going to happen _today_ that’s getting to him, but what comes _after_. Today’s just closing statements, but this is the last of their arguments. The last chance they have of convincing the jury that their case is valid, that it isn’t all just fabrication and manipulation, that these arseholes are guilty and that they _deserve_ what’s coming to them. After this though there’ll be nothing to do but wait, and deliberation could take hours or days or even _weeks_ before the jury reaches a verdict. The thought of all the weight today holds, and all the days that are to follow—all of the days that could be spent in limbo, not knowing—that’s what weighs on him now.

It’s his mum that finally calms him down. Just before they’re about to go into the courtroom she pulls him aside, taking his hands in hers.

“Listen, love, I know you’re scared. But you can’t change anything by worrying about it, yeah? All you can do is let the jury do what they’re here to do. Trust that they’ll make the right decision. And even if they don’t, there’s nothing stopping you from continuing to get justice and to do right by all those kids. Whatever they decide after this, we’ll still be okay, we’ll figure it out, and whatever happens I want you to know that I’m so proud of you.”

Zayn smiles. He doesn’t have any words to say that feel sufficient enough to thank her for everything. For being here, for being amazing, for being _her_. But when he hugs her he’s pretty sure she feels everything he doesn’t have the words for and a little bit of the tension over the day leaves his body.

Inside Zayn sits next to Moira as Zara stands before the jury, looking as fierce as ever as she speaks.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’ve heard and seen many things throughout this trial. You’ve heard that operatives are liars, killers, that there is no chance of recovery for them, that they’re skilled manipulators who orchestrated everything you’ve heard and seen solely to play on your emotions, that the defendants are not guilty of the crimes they stand accused of simply because their friends and family don’t believe it to be true, and perhaps the most absurd of all, that this entire trial is a farce. Yet it is the defense that has made a mockery of these proceedings. They’ve turned this entire trial on its head, muddying the waters so much so that at many times it has seemed as if it were the plaintiff and operatives as a whole on trial instead of the defendants themselves. I implore you to remember that it is not Mr. Malik, nor any of the other operatives, who are on trial here today. In fact all of the horrendous acts they were made to commit that the defense has been all too happy to remind you of at every possible chance they’ve gotten, were done so under the most extreme duress on threat of unspeakable torture by many of those on trial today. I beg you not to forget that these were _children_ who were so brutally ripped away from everything they had ever known and essentially reduced to mere puppets as a result of years of torture, brainwashing, rape, starvation, and unlawful biological experimentation and modification. The severe and near-constant trauma they underwent, both physical and mental, on top of the unceasing mental conditioning they were subjected to left them in such a state as to be unable to make decisions for themselves or even to provide for themselves the most basic of care.

“They were mere victims following the directives of those exerting power over them, under the threat of the most extreme torture or in some cases even their very lives, without even the ability to fully understand the world around them, to see themselves as anything more than subhuman, or of being capable of feeling or thinking _anything_ at all for themselves. If _anyone_ should be held accountable for the acts these operatives committed while under this kind of extreme duress and in such a depraved state, it should be the ones who _gave_ the orders—the ones responsible for putting them in such a state in the first place and for not only continuing to perpetuate it but taking full advantage of it in the worst of ways—not the victims of these cruel and inhumane atrocities themselves. They carried out these acts because they had no choice. Because they had been raped and beaten and tortured and brainwashed into submission for years on end. After all that they’ve been through, all that they’ve suffered already and all that they will face as they struggle through the difficult process of recovery, the least that they deserve is our sympathy and our help _,_ not our condemnation.

“The ones who _do_ deserve our condemnation, however, are those that have been proven again and again throughout this trial to be the true monsters they’re so intent on making the operatives out to be just to take the heat off themselves. You’ve heard firsthand detailed testimony of the ruthless and inhumane acts committed against the operatives by the defendants, not just once but on numerous occasions over a period of at least a decade, and that’s only that we can corroborate, saying nothing of the horrors committed against the hundreds of other operatives unable to testify. You’ve seen e-mail correspondence, phone records, and program logs connecting the defendants to the program and individuals inside the program. You’ve seen financial records showing defendants’ personal assets being tracked and connected to charities, shell companies, and other seemingly innocuous organizations shown to you throughout this trial to be used to funnel money to and from the program and even to and from known individuals formerly associated with the program already serving time for their crimes. You’ve even seen evidence of correspondence in addition to financial records proving that even some of the witnesses you’ve heard testimony from during this trial, including expert witnesses, had not only made previous payments from their personal accounts to the aforementioned shell companies, charities, and organizations linked to the program themselves, but also in some cases were outright paid and/or blackmailed into lying on the stand. And in light of all this, I don’t think it’s a stretch at all to say that, given the chance, they would do it all again if it meant more money lining their pockets and more puppets to do their bidding. To let them go free would be condemning _hundreds_ , possibly _thousands_ more innocent children to the same awful fate. Please don’t let that be the precedent you set today. We, the prosecution, have done _our_ due diligence to prove to you that the defendants are reprehensible individuals—I hesitate to even call them people for all that they’ve done—who deserve to face the full penalty of the law. All we ask of you, the jury, is that you do yours in dispensing the justice that is so rightly owed and so long overdue.”

Zayn barely resists the urge to smile proudly when Zara’s done, watching her spin gracefully on her heel and return to their table, looking as confident as ever, as if she knows she’s already won. But it’s not over yet. They’ve still got the defense’s closing arguments to get through and Zayn braces himself as Reynolds steps up to take Zara’s place in front of the jury, hands behind his back, poised to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’ve heard a very convincing argument indeed from the prosecution. But I feel I’d be remiss in failing to remind you that the prosecution’s arguments rest largely on the testimony of one sole operative. _One_. Would you fully trust the testimony of any _one_ person out of a group of hundreds? Especially a group of people who are known killers and liars? Because I wouldn’t. And the so-called ‘evidence’ they’ve provided you with in an attempt to further defame not only our clients, but our witnesses as well, is flimsy at best. They show you donations to charities and organizations working for the good of the people, money given in goodwill and kindness, and have the gall to try and spin it all into something done as part of some nefarious scheme. If that doesn’t show you how far they’re willing to go to sway this case in their favor I don’t know what will. What’s next, will they have someone hack into all of _your_ accounts too and use all of your charitable donations as proof of collusion with ‘the program’ if your verdict doesn’t align with the one with they want?

“The most they’ve given you is bank statements that if anything only prove our clients’ proclivity for kindness and compassion. Do those sound like the actions of monsters as the prosecution has so wrongly depicted my clients to be? Because it certainly doesn’t sound like it to me. What it is, is nothing but a desperate attempt to wrestle back a case that they so clearly fear they’re losing. They say we’ve turned this trial on its head but in reality it’s them. As we’ve shown again and again our clients have done nothing wrong. There’s no substantial proof connecting them with these heinous crimes they stand accused of. These operatives on the other hand are _murderers_ , _trained_ killers who can take down a person—multiple people, even—up to three times their size with ease and have no capability for remorse or any kind of emotion. All they know is how to kill and lie. You’ve heard that firsthand from not only experts but from someone who knows exactly how they operate.

“The prosecution says that they deserve our compassion, our help, that they deserve justice for what was done to them, but what about what they’ve done to so many more others? Including but certainly not limited to the irreparable damage done to our clients and their families by not only ruining their public images and good standing in their communities, but also dragging their names through the mud like this for a trial based largely on fabrications. They say the operatives aren’t the ones on trial but given all they’ve done surely they deserve to be? Certainly more so than our clients, especially given that there’s so much more evidence mounted against _them_ than there is against our clients? Are you really willing to sentence innocent people to jail for the charges of such horrendous crimes that they didn’t even commit and had absolutely nothing to do with, all based on paper thin evidence and the slanderous lies of _one_ person? Sentence my clients and that is the message you’ll be sending. That flimsy evidence and the lies of one person, who has been proven to be a liar, master manipulator, and a cold-blooded murderer, matters more than the truth and, more importantly, than the lives of the innocent. The prosecution asks of you to dispense the justice that is so rightly owed. Well, we ask the same, only with the added provision that you stand on the _right_ side of justice and not the flawed version of it the prosecution would have you believe.”

Zayn feels about ready to throttle Reynolds. The _sheer audacity_ of _him_ of all people to be talking about the ‘right side of justice,’ like he’s some fucking paragon of truth and morality. It’s fucking _absurd_. Luckily Zara beats Zayn to it with he considers to be the equivalent of a verbal throttling, stepping back into place before the jury for a final rebuttal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, once again the defense has made their arguments more about the plaintiff and the other operatives than about their own clients. They claim Mr. Malik is a master manipulator and that our evidence is flimsy but you’ve _seen_ the records, you’ve _seen_ the footage. You’ve seen how all of the dots connect. At every turn they’ve tried their very best to distract you from the real issue at hand, the real crux of this case, turning things around so that you’re more focused on the operatives and what _they’ve_ done than you are on the defendants and _their_ crimes. Using fear-mongering to play on your emotions, judgments, and biases towards our client and others like him when, again he, and the others like him, are not the ones on trial here. Is that not direct evidence of the _actual_ manipulation going on here? Now, I’m not sure what Mr. Reynolds defines as the ‘right side of justice’ but continuing to so shamelessly manipulate you all, the jury, for months on end all while defending the very depraved individuals responsible for all the atrocities detailed to you throughout this trial, dismissing or even outright ignoring at times the stacks of evidence against them and bemoaning their supposed innocence even in the face of such irrefutable evidence of unspeakable crimes certainly doesn’t sound like someone who’s on the ‘right’ side of justice to me. I implore you, don’t let the defense and their paltry arguments distract you from what this trial is really about or from your duty as jurors to remain fair and impartial in your judgment and not let your personal biases against those not even on trial cloud your assessment of the facts of this case. Only your judgment and yours alone can ensure that this kind of thing never happens to another child ever again and that those who suffered at the hands of these deplorable individuals finally get the justice they so rightly deserve.”

The judge dismisses the jury for deliberations shortly after and just like that it’s over. Nothing left to do but wait. Zayn says his goodbyes to Zara and Moira and heads out with Liam and all of his family and friends in tow, feeling like a weight should have been lifted, but instead the weight still feels heavy in his chest. And he suspects it probably will until this is all really, truly _, finally_ over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! :)
> 
> Comments and kudos = LOVE!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreman/Foreperson – the head juror or presiding juror, generally chosen by the judge either before the trial begins or elected by vote among the jury at the beginning of the jury’s deliberations, in the UK though it’s usually just the first person selected as a juror from the jury duty pool and each other juror is assigned a number

_Jury_

**Deliberation Room**

**Day 1**

Foreman: Alright, so, I’m just gonna start right out by stating the obvious. This is about more than just the defendants being guilty or not. I think we can pretty much all recognize that. What we decide here sets the stage for not only what happens to the defendants, but also what happens to the operatives after this is all over. We’ve got a difficult decision ahead of us and a lot of evidence and testimony to re-hash and I know that many of us are just eager for this process to all be over but that is by no means no excuse for us to rush through this because there’s a lot at stake here. I just want to make sure that everyone is fully aware of that and remembers that as we go through our deliberation and analysis and that everyone also remembers to be respectful of each other’s opinions throughout this process and to consider everything we’ve been presented with as fairly and objectively as possible. That said, if everyone is agreement we can start by re-examining and reviewing everyone’s thoughts on the first piece of evidence, Exhibit A, the footage of the ‘Integration Process.’

Juror 10: Well…um…I’ll start I guess…as for the footage it was awful to watch obviously, but…technically there’s nothing about it on its own that proves any of the defendants’ involvement or guilt. All we can see is that poor girl in pain but there’s nothing that identifies the person or people responsible for it.

Juror 2: True. But according to Malik’s testimony at least a few of the defendants personally administered the Procedure on him at one time or another while he was in the program.

Juror 4: _If_ we can trust his testimony. _And_ _if_ he’s not misremembering, like that one doctor said could be the case.

Juror 3: You’re forgetting though that she also said the likelihood of him misremembering were pretty much slim to none. And anyway why would this guy risk going to trial, airing all his dirty laundry out to the entire nation, crimes and all, and being vilified for it if it was all just for a lie. No one in their right mind would do that to themselves.

Juror 4: You really think these operatives or whatever are still in their right minds after all we’ve heard?

Juror 3: I _think_ that even someone who’s half-crazy wouldn’t be crazy enough to put themselves through all this or risk so much for something that wasn’t true, that’s what I think.

Juror 5: Can we get back to the evidence please?

Foreman: Agreed, let’s try to stay on track, please, guys, we’re already gonna be here long enough with just the analysis and review alone. Let’s just try our best to keep any arguments restricted to opinions on evidence and testimony, yeah?

Juror 5: Well, I agree that there’s technically nothing in it alone that proves the defendants’ involvement but—and I know this is jumping—but when coupled with some of the later evidence I think it’s pretty damning.

Juror 9: This isn’t about any of the other evidence though, right now it’s just about this particular video and as it stands there’s nothing in it that identifies who’s behind it. We don’t see any faces, or any part of anyone else for that matter, besides the girl. We can talk about how it fits in with all the rest of the evidence and other testimony when it comes to that, but by itself it doesn’t really prove anything as far as the charges against the defendants are concerned.

Juror 7: Aren’t we _supposed_ to be talking about testimonies too though? I mean that evidence was presented in conjunction _with_ Malik’s testimony so I don’t think it’s fair to save that for a later discussion when they were meant to go together in the first place and he did testify that multiple defendants were either witness to or party to his Procedures. Whether any of them were present for that specific one shown in the video is besides the point I think when we have sworn testimony implicating them.

Juror 11: Again though, that’s assuming he’s telling the truth. Are we really ready to open _that_ can of worms right now? Wouldn’t it be easier to just review the evidence on face value first and _then_ debate the merits of his testimony later?

Juror 6: How is it any easier? Either way we’re gonna have to discuss his testimony eventually, the only difference is whether we do it _now_ while we’re discussing the evidence it actually applies to, or wait and do it later when everything’s out of context and have to re-discuss the individual pieces of evidence that go along with every little thing that was said. Seems to me it’s more difficult that way actually.

Juror 8: I agree. I think if we’re gonna discuss each piece of evidence we have to discuss the individual testimony that went along with it, whether it was his or someone else’s. And I know everyone might not necessarily be on board with taking his testimony or anyone else’s testimony at face value, but if the argument to everything said in court that’s brought up again here is gonna be some variation of ‘ _if_ they’re telling the truth’ or ‘ _if_ they can even be believed’ we’re never gonna get anywhere. The second we start debating how true or how false something is, is the second we start running ourselves in circles. All we can do is share our thoughts and opinions on the testimony and evidence presented to us and try to come to a consensus on it, that’s the only way we’ll actually get somewhere. As for me I have to agree that alone the video doesn’t prove anything, but given Malik’s testimony—which personally I believe because I also don’t think anyone would put themselves through all this for nothing—it points to at least some of them being involved.

Juror 9: Well, I still think the video doesn’t prove anything.

Juror 6: I disagree. Along with his testimony I think it’s pretty damn telling. And the fact that they didn’t even bother to show up this whole time doesn’t help either.

Foreman: Alright, so, it looks like we’ve got six in favor of the video being sufficient proof and five against, which I guess makes me the tie-breaker. Unfortunately though I have to say I agree with the naysayers, at least when it comes to this particular piece of evidence. I mean, even with Malik’s testimony his memory isn’t necessarily reliable and I think if we’re gonna be possibly sentencing these people to such heavy crimes we need more concrete evidence than hearsay and unreliable memories from just one person. If we had other people’s testimony to back it up or even something more identifiable to prove it was one of them in the video I might have a different opinion but with just his testimony and memories alone, I think I have to agree with the others on this one that this video, even when coupled with the testimony, just isn’t substantial enough to prove anything or convict anyone of anything. Shall we move on to Exhibit B?

 

**Day 3**

Juror 10: Maybe this is just me, but, I don’t know, didn’t anyone think he seemed a bit…unemotional at times? Like…apathetic?

Juror 2: Well, given that he didn’t even know what emotions _were_ for years I think he seemed to be doing pretty well. And anyway that was probably more him trying _not_ to react too much if anything. I mean we all saw how uncomfortable he got whenever they played video footage and how hard it was for him to talk about the discipline sessions and the sexual abuse. Plus he’s got the pressure of trying not to look _too_ emotionally volatile.

Juror 3: Yeah, I mean, if he’d snapped like those defense lawyers clearly wanted him to then we’d all be saying he was _too_ emotional instead of not emotional enough. But he’s been through some Nazi-level type shit, I think it’s understandable that he’d be a little messed up. Doesn’t mean he’s any less trustworthy or any more the monster they made him out to be.

Juror 4: Are we just forgetting now that he’s a killer? And a trained one at that?

Juror 2: Only because he was _forced_ to. You saw the same shit we saw, if he hadn’t done what they wanted they would’ve just kept torturing him, or worse, killed him. He was just a _kid_ , for Christ’s sake. What was he supposed to do? Just keep being tortured? _Let_ himself be killed?

Juror 4: I’m not denying that what happened to him was awful, but it doesn’t change the facts. He’s still a trained assassin who spent the better part of his life lying and killing, so how much can we really trust that he’s telling the truth _now_?

Juror 5: Hang on, I thought we agreed we were only gonna focus on the testimony and the evidence, not what we think of them as people or how trustworthy they are?

Juror 7: I mean, we kind of have to talk about it eventually though don’t we if we’re gonna come to a unanimous decision? We’re through re-reviewing most of the evidence at this point and we’re still no closer to agreeing on anything than we were when we started, mostly because there’s still this huge gap between those of us who believe him and those of us who don’t.

Juror 9: Yeah, as much as I hate to say it I think we need to talk about why some us don’t believe him and why others do cause clearly _not_ talking about it is getting us nowhere.

Foreman: Well, if we’re gonna talk about him and _his_ trustworthiness then it’s only fair that we talk about what we think of all the other witnesses who testified too.

Juror 6: Christ, we’re never leaving.

 

**Day 5**

Juror 2: All I’m saying is it’s not as black and white as you’re making it out to be. _Nothing_ is. This whole case is in the damn grey area!

Foreman: Okay, I think we all just need to take a breath and calm down.

Juror 2: _I_ think we all need to be done. We’ve been here five days arguing the same damn things and managed to get almost everyone to come to a consensus, except two.

Juror 4: I’m not going to suddenly go along with one particular verdict just because you want me to or just because everyone else has agreed to it.

Juror 11: Me either. Frankly, I have to agree with what was said earlier about things being too muddy. I mean, we’re talking about sending _a lot_ of people to jail, possibly for life, based on evidence that’s just not all that concrete. Between the financial records and e-mails and phone records and all of that, there’s enough evidence to at least prove that some of them were involved somehow, or at least profited or contributed financially to the program in some way. But as for them being responsible for anything else firsthand all we have is Malik’s testimony and I’m just not sure that I trust him fully. Personally, I just don’t think there’s enough for us to say with absolute certainty that they’re _all_ guilty.

Juror 3: I don’t understand what’s so hard to see, I mean, it’s not like he just did all this for fun. You really think he just picked a bunch of random people and officials he saw on the news and said to himself, hmm, I think I’d like to make up a bunch of lies about them and see if I can get them thrown in jail even if it means all my crimes have to come out in the process?

Juror 4: Of course not. Whatever the case I’m sure it’s a lot more complicated than that and I’m not even saying he’s lying necessarily, though for all we know he could be, but it could also just be that he’s misremembering or confused like some of the doctors said.

Juror 8: The defense doctors that were discredited, you mean?

Juror 11: They weren’t the only doctors who testified to that. Even the prosecution doctor said it was possible.

Juror 7: Only because the defense lawyer twisted her words and took what she was saying out of context.

Juror 4: That doesn’t change the fact that it’s possible.

Juror 2: Oh, come on, you could be forced to say practically anything is possible when you’re backed into a corner like that. That lawyer could’ve asked if Malik was a genetically spliced robot clone from the future for Christ’s sake and her answer would probably have still been the same because yes, it’s _possible_ , anything’s _possible_ , that doesn’t mean it’s true.

Juror 4: Ridiculousness of your example aside, that doesn’t mean it’s _not_ true either. The possibility is still there and for me that means that his testimony can’t necessarily be trusted, especially not to convict so many people to prison for life for something they may not have done or even had any involvement with.

 

**Day 7**

Foreman: Look. I know we’re all tired and just want this to be over with but we need to reach a decision. I know it’s not an easy one. On the one hand if we rule that the defendants _aren’t_ guilty then we’re letting a lot of people who’ve been accused of some pretty awful things walk free and maybe even giving them an opportunity to try to do it all again. On the other hand, if we rule that the defendants _are_ guilty then we help to put away some potentially awful people, at least according to Malik’s testimony and some of the evidence presented, but it also lessens the chances of charges being brought against the operatives, who as we all know by now have also done a lot of awful things, even if they _were_ by force. That said though, we do need to come to some sort of agreement, even if it means a compromise that everyone’s not necessarily happy with.

Juror 2: I’ll say this, no way am I letting all these guys walk, I don’t care if we have to keep coming back here for another month, so whatever compromise we come to it better involve some sort of jail time.

Juror 3: Agreed.

Juror 11: Are you really okay with sending possibly innocent people to jail?

Juror 2: Innocent people, no, but they’re far from innocent, that much is clear.

Juror 4: Only if you choose to believe the testimony of a known liar.

Juror 10: Alright, how about this? Since not everyone agrees with taking Malik’s or some of the others’ testimonies into consideration, how about we just focus back on the evidence and see if we can at least come to a consensus on that and whether any of it is strong enough to prove involvement or guilt and then go back to re-hashing the testimonies later?

Juror 11: That’s fair.

Foreman: Alright, are we all in agreement on that, at least? Good. Then I nominate we focus in on the sets of evidence that include the program logs—all the financial records, phone records, visitor logs, e-mails, and things of that sort—since that seems to be one of the only things we can all agree on holding the most credence as far as involvement is concerned.

 

**Day 10**

Juror 5: Yes, but see these payments here? It’s like the prosecution said, the transaction dates listed under the account all match up with the same dates as the ones this alias signed into the program visitor’s log on. There’s no way those can all be a coincidence. It’s the same with all these other accounts.

Juror 3: Plus there’s the fact that these so-called ‘charities’ and other organizations that so many of them donated to are listed as contributors in the program’s financial logs too. And then there’s the payments made _from_ the program to various shell companies which was then transferred to these accounts here, here, here, and so on, bi-weekly like a paycheck, and whose dates and amounts received in individual accounts line up with the payments made to the shell companies.

Juror 4: Yeah, but that still only proves _some_ of their involvement, not all, and even then it’s only financial, there’s no proof that they committed any of the acts Malik claimed they did.

Juror 2: The fact is all of it matches up specifically with who Malik identified as visitors or as doctors and other higher-up staff on the payroll, so you have to admit at least some of his testimony is true. And if some of it’s true then why not the rest?

Juror 4: Because there’s still the possibility that not everything he said was completely accurate.

Juror 11: I don’t know, though, I mean, if you think about it the bi-weekly payments that look like paychecks do suggest that some of them were at least on the payroll. It’s kind of hard to refute that and then it’s really not that much of a stretch from there to suppose they could’ve worked as doctors and other staff and that if they did then they’re guilty of at least some of the same things we saw children being put through in the video footage.

Juror 2: I’ll do you one better. Based on this particular evidence, is it _possible_ his testimony is true? Yes or no?

Juror 4: Alright, fair enough, yes, it’s possible. But that still leaves the others’ whose financial records we don’t have to corroborate his story.

Juror 3: Jesus Christ, seriously? Why would he tell the truth about some and lie about the rest? If you can admit he was right about this many, why is it so hard to admit he might be right about the others too even without their financial records?

Juror 11: Because this is more concrete that simple hearsay. I’ll give you these but as for the rest I’m still on the fence.

Juror 4: Me too.

Juror 6: I told you all we’re never getting out of here.

 

**Day 14**

Foreman: Alright, are we all in agreement on the verdict?

Juror 8: About as much as we’re going to get I think.

Foreman: Okay, I know we’re not all happy about it, but that’s compromise, yeah? So if no one else has any last-minute objections they’d like to voice and if it’s okay with everyone I’m going to ahead and notify the bailiff that we’ve reached a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all are ready for the verdict reveal (finally) coming in the next chapter!
> 
> Comments and kudos = LOVE! :)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the verdict is finally in...

_Zayn_

It’s funny how the passage of time used to be the only thing that gave him comfort. For so long it was the only constant in his life. The only thing he could be sure of even when the rest of the world felt like a sea of confusion. Even when everything was in turmoil or when awful things were happening to him out of his control all he had to do was count down the seconds, minutes, hours until it would be over. Now though the passage of time feels like torture.

Two weeks.

Two agonizing weeks with no way of knowing if the end is near or far, if it will be good or bad or something in between. Zayn’s hyperaware of every passing second, barely sleeps for it. The minutes seem like hours, the hours like days, and the days like months. It feels as if he spends the entire time on edge, can’t seem to get himself to relax for anything, not even Liam. He spends his days tense and restless and exhausted all at the same time, all the possible outcomes of the impending decision weighing on his mind almost constantly, running through his head back and forth on a loop, like a pendulum swinging from one end of the path to another. And even in those briefest of moments that he seems to forget, it doesn’t last. He’ll find himself relaxing, the tension leaving his body for a little while, only for it to all come crashing back in the second he remembers again until he feels like he’s going half-mad with the wait.

When the call finally comes through it feels like it’s first time he’s taken a full breath in weeks.

The drive to the courthouse is quiet, both him and Liam too anxious to broach the silence. Their families are somber when they meet up in their usual spot on the end of the block and even Louis is subdued as they climb the courthouse steps together.

Journalists rush them, shoving microphones and cameras in their faces but Zayn barely even registers them. They’re like flies in his periphery as he makes his way up the stairs and through the doors with a single focus.

The judge, thankfully, doesn’t waste any time, gets right to the point addressing the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor.”

The foreman stands, a piece of paper with a prepared statement in his hands determining the fate not only of the defendants, but of Zayn’s life and the lives of all the other operatives as well, whether the man realizes it or not.

Zayn doesn’t breathe the entire time the foreman speaks.

“On the charges of kidnapping, accessory to kidnapping, assault and battery, assault with intent to rape, physical assault, sexual assault, physical assault of minors, sexual assault of minors, physical abuse, sexual abuse, physical abuse of minors, sexual abuse of minors, pandering, pandering of minors, emotional and psychological abuse, physical torture, psychological torture, murder, and accessory to murder, in the cases of those defendants shown to be associated with the charities and organizations formerly identified and sufficiently proved by the prosecution to have known connections to the program, we, the jury, find those defendants guilty. In the case of all other defendants not shown to be affiliated with the aforementioned charities or organizations, we, the jury, find the remaining defendants not guilty.”

The judge thanks them, then turns back to the court at large, announcing, “All defendants found guilty are hereby sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole. All charges against the remaining defendants are dismissed. This court is hereby adjourned.”

And just like that it’s over.

The judge bangs his gavel and Zayn can hear the general commotion of everyone else getting up to leave but it feels like white noise. Moira and Zara each hug him and say something that sounds vaguely like it’s supposed to be comforting but it barely even registers over the noise in his head.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. And he’d _known_ not get his hopes up, he’d _known_ how big a chance there was that this wouldn’t go the way he hoped, and yet somewhere along the way he had let himself start thinking that maybe, _just maybe_ the universe might be on his side for once. That things might actually turn out how he wanted them to, how he _needed_ them to. And yet here he is with only a piece of the justice he so desperately longed for.

Two whole weeks of waiting and hoping—two whole _years_ really, since he was himself anyway—and just like that it’s all over. In less than fifteen minutes. And it’s not even a real resolution. Not really.

Ellis is going away, along with so many others. But not all of them. Not all of them and it’s not enough. _It’s not enough_.

Had he been too greedy? Was it too overzealous of him to try and go after them all at once? Was it too much to ask that they _all_ pay for what they did?

“No. _No_. Of _course_ not,” someone says and it’s not until he hears Liam’s voice and feels Liam’s hands on his face that he registers the now nearly empty courtroom. Their families and Sarah and the lads are all standing in the aisle with grim looks on their faces. No one is the least bit happy about how this turned out and as awful as it is somehow that gives Zayn just the tiniest bit of comfort at least knowing that they’re just as upset about this outcome as he is.

Outside is predictably a media storm. There’s even more cameras and journalists hovering than there were going in and they swarm them all as they exit. Zayn spots Moira and Zara in front of one down on the pavement in front of the steps.

“It’s not the resolution any of us wanted obviously,” Moira’s saying to the journalist questioning her. “But if any good came out of this it’s that the world got to finally hear the truth about who the operatives really are and what those despicable people did to them and that at least some of those responsible will pay for the horrors they inflicted on all those kids. Not to mention that, as disappointing as this verdict may be, by making the perpetrators and contributors to the program culpable for the acts committed under the program’s guise, it sets in place a significant legal precedent that absolves the operatives from any future blame for what they were forced to do **.”**

Eager to get a statement from him and anyone with him about the verdict microphones and cameras are shoved in Zayn’s and everyone else’s faces as they descend the steps, a barrage of questions and demands shouted at them all at once in a cacophony of noise. Zayn ignores them like usual, moving as quickly as he can through the fray and doing his very best to physically restrain himself from shoving them out of his space. But in the midst of it all it’s his mum that surprises him, suddenly stopping with an angrily determined set to her face and looking right into the nearest camera.

“ _No_. No, we’re _not_ happy with the verdict, but you know what? This isn’t the end. Not by far. To all those who got off today you aren’t free. You’ll _never_ be free. Because _we’ll_ never stop fighting. And we won’t rest until every single one of you has paid for what you did to my son and all the others like him. I promise you that.” And with that she spins on her heel and marches down the rest of the steps and Zayn’s never been more proud to call her his mum than he is in that moment.

*

Weeks pass and as angry as he is about the verdict life goes on. He can’t just sit around and be angry forever.

Louis drags them all out for drinks and, mopey and somber as they are, it’s nice to take their minds off the verdict for a little while. They may not have gotten the chance to have a celebratory dinner like they wanted but at least they can still have this.

Zayn drinks until even he can barely see straight, dances out on the floor with Liam like there’s no tomorrow, and then lets Liam drag him back home to fuck him so good he forgets what words are.

He goes to visit his team and to no one’s surprise they’re as conflicted as he is about the verdict. T4 had absolutely destroyed the common room when the verdict was announced on the news and though they’d replaced all the furniture and appliances shortly after, the walls are still a bit worse for ware.

The atmosphere throughout the whole facility is subdued, but especially so in this wing. Even Six, who’s going by Sam now, is devoid of his usual sunny disposition, and the five of them sit around talking about nothing in particular to try and fill the void of sober silence.

It’s no different in the rest of the facilities either. In every one he’s met with a gloomy atmosphere of dejection as he walks through the corridors that not long before had finally started to be filled with life. All that’s gone now as everyone tries to reconcile with the results of the trial.

It’s funny, the public expects them all to be _happy_. Like half a victory is the same as a full one. Like there aren’t predators still prowling the streets, free from blame and likely gearing up to do it all over again. Like there aren’t still hundreds of children’s lives at risk, on top of the hundreds more still suffering and struggling to heal inside these very walls.

He’s _so fucking angry_. All the time since the verdict, but especially now as he sees how the repercussions of it are rippling their way down the line, cutting right through what little progress was starting to be made. It makes him sick that even now, without even doing anything themselves, the arseholes can still hold so much power over them all, still break them down so much simply by existing.

And it’s as he walks through these now dull, lifeless corridors, sees how all the potential that had been steadily growing has been so quickly and cruelly ripped away simply by a shit ruling, that an idea starts to form in his head. One that he can’t shake, but that feels completely right. A way to truly, _finally_ get justice. Real justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos = LOVE :)


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’re coming to a close guys…only one more chapter left and I'm hoping you all like where it goes (don't worry it's not anything illegal like some of you were thinking...well not technically anyway lol), in the meantime hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> [Young Offender Institution = uk version of juvie/juvenile detention center]

_Liam_

“Hi,” Liam says when Zayn comes in from another site visit at one of the facilities.

“Hi,” Zayn says, coming right around to plop into Liam’s arms on the couch and he sounds so dejected.

“You okay?” Liam says, lips pressed to Zayn’s temple.

Zayn shrugs. “Not really.”

“Yeah…me neither, I guess.” It’s been the general mood the past couple of days, ever since the verdict. “Would an ice lolly make you feel any better?”

Zayn snorts, turning to glance at him with crinkled brows and Liam shrugs, smiling a bit bashfully.

“Went grocery shopping earlier and bought some on a whim. I don’t know, they caught my eye and I just…got to thinking about being a kid and…happier times, you know? How things were always good when you had an ice lolly. It was dumb, but I don’t know, I guess a part of me thought maybe getting them would bring back a bit of that back or something…nostalgia and that I guess…”

Zayn smiles. “It’s not dumb…a little out of the blue maybe, but not dumb. You know what? Why the hell not, I’ll take one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Liam disentangles himself from Zayn and darts over to the fridge. “What flavor d’ you want?” he calls

“Red.”

“That’s not a flavor.”

“Your face is not a flavor.”

And _there’s_ the Zayn he knows. Maybe this _was_ a good idea after all. Even if it is only a temporary respite. It’s better than nothing.

He pulls out a red one for Zayn and a blue one for himself and heads back to the couch where they curl up together to watch an evening showing of SpaceMonsters 3000 for the millionth time and it’s nice. Nice to be able to forget, if only for a little while, all the other shit that’s gone on these past few months and these past few days especially, to be able to cocoon themselves in their own little world for a bit, away from all the problems of the outside world. At least they still get to have this. No matter what no one can take these moments away from them and that’s got to count for something.

*

In the wake of everything else that’s been going on with their lives it’s easy to forget all the other little things going on around them. Liam has been so preoccupied worrying about Zayn and the trial, and now the aftermath of the verdict, that work has kind of taken a backseat. But just days after the verdict a call comes through from the facility Zayn’s team is at. They need approval to use Foundation funding to replace the furniture and appliances in one of the common rooms from an incident that apparently happened the day the verdict was announced. Liam doesn’t even need to ask why or which one. He makes the arrangements with the accounting department and while he’s at it schedules a visit.

The days and weeks feel almost like a blur now though. Like he’s just going through the motions but he’s not really _here_. He can’t stop thinking about the verdict and all the people that got off. How at each passing second they could already be plotting to start it all again.

As usual it’s Louis who ends up being the one to help him take his mind off of it, though not intentionally. It’s a few weeks after the verdict, nearly the one year mark since the initial program raids, when the news comes in.

“Finally got a hit on something I thought you might wanna know about,” Louis says on the phone, for once on the actual line meant for private department-to-department calls.

“Yeah, what’s that?” Liam says tiredly around a yawn. It’s been a long day.

“Got a partial facial recognition match from an old mugshot of a juvenile offender from a Young Offender Institution three counties over. Got booked for stealing, but according to her file it wasn’t her first offence. Apparently she was an orphan, bounced around from home to shitty home, county to county for a few years before she pulled a runner and started living on her own on the street. Every time she got booked social services would swoop in and try to place her in another home but she always ran. Her last arrest was April 2006 when she was thirteen. She did a month, got released in May, but after that the trail runs cold. Social services tried to track her down again but after a few months with no luck gave up looking for her. According to the notes of the case worker assigned to her at the time the assumption was she’d just run away again and they likely wouldn’t find her until her next arrest.”

Liam sighs. He hates cases like these. As much as he’s aware of the fact that not all the operatives came from picture perfect families it still breaks his heart every time he comes across a case like this one where a kid essentially got traded one shitty life for another, even shittier one.

“Who’s the match for?”

“Well, the thing is it’s spotty seeing as the girl in the mugshot’s got a bunch of piercings and make-up on and a completely different haircut and hair color. The algorithm’s only putting it between a 68% and 72% match, depending on if the hair color’s natural or not. It’s hard to tell.”

“Stop stalling. Who’s it for?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Louis.”

There’s a long, drawn out sigh and then, voice resigned, Louis finally says, “We think it might be T4.”

Liam closes his eyes and presses a hand to his face. He’s not surprised exactly. Most of the operatives whose cases have been open as long as hers have turned out to either be orphans or come from broken homes. And given that she still hasn’t made any mention of memories of her family he’d started to suspect as much anyway. They all had. Though he will admit he’d secretly been holding out the slim hope that he might be wrong, this news effectively puts any of that to rest.

He wonders if she knows. It would explain a lot to be honest. Why she barely talks and is so prone to angry outbursts, more so than just the normal tantrums and mood swings expected of recovering operatives.

“Send me the file?” he says to Louis, feeling monumentally more exhausted now than he had only a few minutes ago, before this call.

“Course.”

*

The girl in the file’s name is Kira Evans. According to the other files Louis and his team were able to track down on her, her parents were killed when she was six. Robbery gone wrong. There was a storm and she crawled into her parents’ bed, too scared to sleep while her dad went down to the kitchen to get her some milk. And then she’d heard shouting and what sounded to her like more thunder but really were gunshots. Her mum just barely had time to get a call to the police before the robbers made it to the bedroom and the only reason Kira survived was because she’d been huddled under the covers to hide from the “thunder” and in the dark the robbers hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the bed. Her mother’s dead body had fallen right on top of her and bled right through the sheets and once Kira realized what had happened she ran to the closet and locked herself inside. The police found her there covered in blood hours later, too traumatized to speak and it was months before they were able to get the story out of her, though no arrests could be made since she never saw their faces.

After that she got put into care. There’s not much on the first couple homes she was in but by the third she’d started running away and got labeled “troublesome” in her file. The caseworker’s notes indicate she had complained of abuse and that was her reason for running away. But apparently the “investigation” hadn’t yielded any evidence of her claims and none of the other children in the home had made any similar complaints so the investigation got dropped and she got sent back to the same home for a while. Until she ran away again and managed to get placed in another. The cycle pretty much repeats from there for another few homes until she starts living on the streets around age eleven and the only records of her after that are arrest records. The last of which is from May 2006.

Liam knows that T3 and T4 were brought into the program in the same group in July 2006, so if this Kira Evans really is T4 then the timeline at least matches up. But he needs to be sure.

“What do you remember about T4 when she first arrived in the program?” he asks Zayn when he gets home that night.

“Well, hello you too,” Zayn says, eyebrows raised as he stands at the kitchen stove, turning his attention from fiddling with the kettle to look at Liam.

Liam shakes his head as he dumps his things by the door. “Sorry, just…it’s been on my mind all day but I felt like it was something we should talk about face to face as opposed to over the phone.”

“Okay…well, um, by time she and T3 showed up I was nearly a year into my training. I know now that they came in in July but they were in recovery from the serums and initial Procedure for a while so I didn’t really see them then and they didn’t actually start training till about September which is when I first met them. T4 was a lot like me at first, really defiant, always ignoring or disobeying disorders. T3 too, but not quite as much. Other than that though they weren’t too different from any other operatives that I could tell. I mean, you know, it’s not like we talked or anything outside of what was necessary for missions and stuff.”

“Did she have any weird marks on her face that you can recall? Like little scars or anything?”

Zayn tilts his head, thinking. “She did have these little marks by her right eyebrow, yeah. Like four of them, two above, two below, though they kind of faded pretty quickly cause of the serums. I didn’t think much of it at the time obviously, but now that you mention it I’m guessing it was probably from piercings or something.”

Liam nods grimly and Zayn peers at him curiously.

“Why?” Zayn says hesitantly. “What’s going on?”

Liam chews at his lip. “Louis, um…Louis got a hit on an old file today. Juvenile offender.”

“Okay…?” Zayn says slowly, still looking confused.

“S’not an exact match, but…it’s from April 2006. Street kid—thirteen—with possibly dyed hair and a bunch of piercings. Two in her lip, one in her nose…two in her right eyebrow.”

Zayn stills, gaze dropping down to the counter.

“It might not be her,” Liam says in a rush. “I mean, there’s tons of girls who could have those same piercings.”

“Girls whose parents would _let_ them at thirteen?” Zayn sighs. “I know none of us want us to say it out loud but if we haven’t found her family by now it’s probably because she doesn’t have one.”

“We don’t know that,” Liam tries. “The girl in the photo has blonde hair and it’s only a 60-something percent match. Those are still pretty decent odds that it’s not her.”

“Let me see it.”

“What?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “The file. I know you have it. You always bring your work home with you. Come on, let’s see it.”

Liam sighs, but reaches for his workbag. Zayn knows him too well.

He hands the file to Zayn with the feeblest of hopes, because he may know what she looks like now, which is only a passing resemblance to the girl in the photo, but Zayn knows what she looked like at thirteen.

Zayn stares at the photo for a long time. His face is impassive as he sits hunched over in the barstool staring down at it on the counter before him and Liam can’t do anything but wait. He’s just starting to hope that maybe Zayn’s silence means he doesn’t recognize her, that it’s not her after all, when Zayn finally speaks.

“It’s her. She’s got on a ton of make-up, enough to make her look unrecognizable enough to probably confuse a computer, and that shade of blonde makes her look a bit paler than she actually is, but it’s her.”

Liam watches him flip through the rest of the file, skimming through police reports and psych evaluations and caseworkers’ notes. There’s no aged-up photo because the algorithm wouldn’t work well with that much make-up. It’d probably end up generating something that looked like a mutated blonde Kardashian. Or better yet early 2000’s Avril Lavigne mixed with a Kardashian and that’s not helpful to anyone. But Zayn’s confirmation is all he needs.

*

The phone call with the Millers is not a pleasant one. They’d been just as hopeful as Liam that T4’s family might be found and to hear the truth after so long spent waiting and hoping is not an easy thing, but Liam’s more worried about how T4 herself is going to take the news. As it turns out though it doesn’t go nearly as badly as he’d expected. Though for the moment she still only has spotty memories of her childhood, it’s revealed through T3 (who, despite reaching the point where she’s comfortable with her birth name, Rory, had previously refused to go by anything else until T4’s birth name was recovered, and even now that it has been, has opted to wait to take on her birth name until T4 is comfortable being called anything else too) when Liam comes to visit that T4 had suspected as much about her life before the program.

“Most of her clearest memories from before are violent ones and almost all of them from a different place or with a different family,” T3 explains from where she’s sat on T4’s bed, one arm wrapped comfortingly around her waist while T4 sits quietly cuddled into her side.

Liam and Zayn are sat across from them on what’s technically T3’s bed, though as Six, or rather Sam now, tells it it’s rarely used.

Liam hasn’t really had the chance to be around the two of them together all that much and he’s never felt it was quite within his place to ask what exactly the nature of their relationship actually is, whether friendly, sisterly, romantic, some combination, or something else altogether. But looking at them now, the way they’re so wrapped up in each other and around each other and how every time they look at one another they get this expression on their face like coming home, like for the briefest of seconds, nothing or no one else around them matters, he thinks he has his answer.

Somehow, against the odds, without any understanding of emotions and in a place where any kind of interpersonal connection was met with the severest of punishment they managed to still find love. Even if they hadn’t been able to act on it or recognize it for what it was until now and yet still they’d managed not only to persevere through it all but to defy the rules so much so that they became the only exception to the most stringent of rules. Liam can’t help but be amazed by the kind of strength and resilience—and pure balls—that must have taken.

T3 tells them a little of what T4’s willing to share of her non-program-related nightmares, which unsurprisingly matches up with a lot of what’s in her file and it breaks Liam’s heart to hear even though it’s not unlike so many of the other kids in their care. But her being Zayn’s teammate, and the closest he had to a family for so long while in the program, this hits much closer to home. Is almost like hearing this from one of Zayn’s actual sisters, though as hard as it is for him to stomach he can’t imagine how much harder it must be for her and T3 to talk about.

By the time he and Zayn take their leave Zayn it’s with a heavy heart, though Zayn and T3 do manage to talk T4 into going to extra therapy sessions, which is something at least.

Back home Liam is restless, can’t seem to stop his brain racing and his emotions from running rampant and it all only makes him angry all over again at the trial and the way it went. He just can’t stop thinking about the fact that she’d already been through so much and then, as if things weren’t bad enough for her already, they had the nerve to take her from an already shitty situation and put her in an even shittier one and now she’s got nothing but an entire lifetime of awful memories and is paying the price for it while half those sons of bitches walk free and clear.

When Zayn reaches across the counter for the third time in a row to lay a hand on his to get Liam to stop tapping incessantly against the counter Liam blows out a frustrated breath. He pauses his stirring of the stew he’s cooking them for dinner and looks at Zayn apologetically.

“Sorry, just…everything today just got me angry all over again at the verdict.”

“I know. Me too.”

“You hid it well.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Not hiding, just…it’s kind of become like…a constant, I guess? Like ever since the trial ended I’m just… _always_ angry, especially when I go on visits and see how much a lot of the others have sort of reverted. Ever since the announcement of the verdict I’ve just kind of gotten used to the anger always being there, like it’s this permanent thing under my skin now that never really goes away. It just…sits there…festering.”

“God, I just wish there was something else we could fucking _do_ ,” Liam says, banging the spoon against the pot out of frustration. Double jeopardy keeps the arseholes from being tried again on the same charges, not that he and Zayn have the money to afford another trial anyway seeing as they were just barely able to afford this one by pooling their money and their friends’ and families’ money. But either way it makes trying again futile and that’s not even considering the fact that the dickheads might only wind up getting let off again anyway. Short of hunting them each down and beating individual confessions out of them Liam’s not sure if there’s even anything else they _can_ do, though if he’s honest with himself he’s not entirely against that option either.

“Yeah. If only…” Zayn says, but there’s something strange in his voice. Something that makes Liam think he _does_ have a plan. A way to really get the justice they were so unfairly robbed of in the trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed guys and don't worry, even though we're coming to a close this still isn't quite the end just yet and you haven't seen the last of these guys haha ;)
> 
> Hope you're looking forward to the last chapter as much as I'm looking forward to you all reading it! :)


	32. ~ Fin (Le Deux) ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!! :D
> 
> It's a shortie but goodie (I think anyway...hope you all think so too) and thank you all so so so much for sticking with me this long, words cannot express how much I appreciate each and every single one of you who've taken the time to give the fics in this verse a read and especially those who've taken the time to comment both on here and on tumblr! You all are gems and I love you! <3

_Zayn_

“Christ, it’s dusty down here.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“Wow, really are living up to our name, aren’t we? Do you always be a such a smart alec, _Alec_?”

“Wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t constantly stating the obvious and just generally being an annoying twat, _Samuel_.”

Rory groans. “Oh my _God_ , if this is what we’re gonna have to put up with me and Kira are out. I did not sign up for this.”

“Technically you did,” Sam says.

“You know, I liked you dickheads a lot better when you didn’t talk,” Rory counters.

“Christ, guys, we’ve literally not even been down here for thirty seconds,” Zayn cuts in. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t murder each other before this thing even got off the ground.”

“Auckkkk, I think I just walked into a spider web. Oh god, now it’s in my _mouth_ , _fuck_.”

Rory rolls her eyes. “Quit being such a baby about everything, Sam, it’s just a spider web for fuck’s sake,” she says, pushing past him. Kira follows, giving Sam a judging look as she goes.

“Good,” Alec says with a smirk as he shoves past Sam too. “I hope a whole gang of spiders lays eggs in your mouth so I won’t have to hear your voice again.”

“Oh my _God_ , why would you say that?” Sam whines, face contorting as he scrambles to wipe his mouth out.

“You’ll be alright, mate,” Zayn says, patting Sam comfortingly on the shoulder as he walks past him to the door ahead. “Pretty sure anything that might have ever been alive down here died a long time ago.”

“That’s _not_ comforting!” Sam yells, still wiping desperately at his mouth and making gagging noises in the middle of the corridor.

Up ahead Alec, Rory, and Kira are waiting patiently by the door, watching Sam flail about with looks of half-bored amusement.

“This’ll all be cleaned out before long once we start using it on the regular,” Zayn says to no one in particular as he forces open the door, half-sealed shut with years of weathering and warping and age. “Although once we get the lift working properly we won’t even really have to go through here at all.”

“You’re planning on reinforcing the door too, I hope?” Alec says, nodding at the shabby, splintering wooden door.

“Obviously,” Zayn says, waving them all in.

He’s not even entirely sure if the lights still work. He’s never actually been down here before now mostly because they haven’t had any use for this space until now. He’d only ever seen pictures of the lower level in the building blueprints and had never actually thought he would end up making use of it until the weeks following the end of the trial, when this idea of his first started formulating. He hadn’t even been sure it would be possible to do this any of this honestly until the Criminal Injuries Compensation Act—which forced all those charged in the trial to pay restitution—took effect, re-distributing the hundreds of millions they’d made on the backs of Zayn and all the others, both deceased and living, to them and their families. Even millions split hundreds of ways is still a hefty sum, enough to start making preparations to get him and Liam into a better flat and for Zayn to fund this brainchild of his.

“So, I’m thinking we can re-use the tables and desks that are already down here,” he explains, flipping the light switch to find to his delight that most of the lights do still work, and gesturing to the room at large while the others look on, nodding. “Louis’ still got connections with his old job so he can get us some recycled computers to use. I figure we can set up a research station on the left for those of us who are a bit more versed in the tech side of things and a station for gear and supplies on the right and the rest will just be space for sparring.”

“Whoa, this place is _huge_ ,” Sam says, finally making his way inside from the corridor from where he’d still been frantically dusting himself off. His eyes are wide as he takes it all in and Zayn can practically see the gears spinning in his head, probably imagining what it’ll look like once it’s all cleaned up and furnished with new equipment the same way Zayn is. “Does this one room span the circumference of the whole building?”

“Pretty much.” Zayn nods. “With the exception of the corridor and one small storeroom in the back,” he says, nodding to the door at the other end of the room.

“Well, cleaning it out’s gonna be a bitch, but it’s definitely got potential,” Alec says, swiping a finger through the layer of dust coating the nearest desk. “What’s Danny got to say about all this?”

Zayn smiles. “He was on board before I even finished explaining. Only reason he didn’t come today is cause he had a work shift, but he’s agreed to be our eyes and ears, and back-up if necessary. Louis’ still got the undercover van they used for recon to get me out, equipped with computers and all sorts of surveillance gear, so I figure we can just repurpose that as our mission van.”

“The exterminator one?” Sam says excitedly.

Zayn nods, huffing a laugh. “The very same.”

Zayn turns to Rory and Kira to see if they have any questions but they seem to be having one of their silent conversations. They exchange a few significant looks between them, glancing back at the lift every now and then before Rory turns to Zayn in question, jerking a thumb behind her. “What’s up with the lift?”

Zayn shrugs. “Not sure. Just doesn’t go down to this floor for some reason. S’been that way ever since we bought the building. All the buttons for the other floors work just fine except this one. Could’ve got it fixed I suppose but there just didn’t seem to be a reason to shell out the extra money for it before now since we weren’t really using the space anyway.”

Without a word Kira turns on her heel, Rory following. Tech stuff has never been one of Zayn or Alec’s strong suits but back in the program Rory, Kira, and Sam had excelled at it and had generally been the ones chosen on missions to hack into and/or disable security cameras, computers, phones, ATM’s, or whatever else needed hacking.

Once he realizes where they’re headed Sam goes to join them in front of the lift, helping to pry the doors open. They get a bit dented in the process but that’s nothing they can’t fix later, should be easy enough to bend them back into shape. Zayn and Alec come to hover at the open lift doorway, watching Kira and Rory remove the panel to the wiring below the floor buttons.

She and Rory have another one of their silent discussions and there’s a bit of pointing and eyebrow dancing before Rory nods and says aloud, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Rory sits back on her heels, giving Kira a bit of space to work as Kira reaches inside to fiddle with the wires. There’s some sparks and a few faint mechanical noises from the lift shaft as gears presumably shift and click back into place and within a few minutes she’s moving to put the panel cover back on again.

“Wait,” Sam says, stepping between them before she can. “Figure this calls for a bit of extra security. You know, so we don’t just have people wandering down here willy nilly.” He reaches inside, finagling with a few more wires and then pressing a bunch of the other floor buttons. “There. Now we’ve essentially got a secret code to get down here. 1-2-6-3-4-2-2-B. Or 12, 6, 3, 4, 22. For all of us.”

“Hang on, why am I last?” Alec says.

“You know why,” Sam retorts.

Zayn snorts as Kira and Rory refashion the panel, the lift doors sliding shut behind them automatically for probably the first time in decades as they wander back out to the main area of the floor.

Sam grins, looking around the room once more before turning his excited grin on them. “Are we really doing this?”

“Are you really asking that again?” Alec replies immediately.

“He only asked liked four times on the drive over,” Rory explains to Zayn with a roll of her eyes.

“We’re doing this.” Zayn nods, sporting a grin of his own. “Those assholes need to know that just because the public let them off free doesn’t mean we will. One rule though. No killing. Not anymore. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it the legal way. Or as legal as we can anyway. We dig up dirt, track them down, get confessions if need-be, and leave them at the cops’ doorstep with the evidence. If they just so happen to get injured or maimed in the process…” Zayn shrugs, “well then, that’s on them for being ‘noncompliant.’” He’s met with smirks at this. “ _But_. That’s as far as it goes. We clear?”

Everyone nods but, surprisingly, it’s Kira who gives the resounding answer.

“Let’s go get the sons of bitches.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna ramble too long on in the end notes this time I promise, but once again just wanted to give a SUPER HUGE THANK YOU and a shoutout to all of you who've stuck around with me and with this verse this far! It's been a crazy long journey and a wild ride at times but I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it and even though this part of the journey has come to a close their story's not quite over yet and you haven't seen the last of them! And if you're still eager for more of these guys and their messy lives head on over to chapter one of the threequel which has already been posted :)
> 
> Come scream with me about this fic or about ziam and ot5 in general on [tumblr](https://yaz-the-spaz.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> And if you can spare a bit of change for a struggling writer drowning in student loan debt [buy me a cup of tea here](https://ko-fi.com/yasmine/) :)


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